


The Weirwood Tree

by steelrose



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Catelyn is Not Nice, Catelyn is beyond redemption, Character Death, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jon Snow is a Stark, Jonerys, Murder, Pregnancy, Premarital Sex, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Sansa snores, We Might Change History
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-06-29 17:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelrose/pseuds/steelrose
Summary: Following a bloody war, people all across the world are attempting to rebuild their lives. Daenerys Targaryen's husband has returned to her, but they are strangers to one another now. Hoping to remember why they fell in love with one another, Daenerys take a holiday with Daario to the North. It is in the wilderness that she feels the call of the ruins of Winterfell. Suddenly, she finds herself transported back to a time which she has only read about. On the brink of another war, Daenerys needs to do all that she can to survive - even if that means saving a man who is destined to die...the King in the North.Inspired by Outlander





	1. The Ruins of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in years! Please judge it kindly. While the premise is definitely inspired by Outlander, the body and path which the story will take is entirely different. I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Also, please not that Jon is not the child of Rhaegar and Lyanna in this story because of timeline issues.

****

**Wintertown, Westeros**

**624 AC**

Outside the air was thick with a musky scent which often followed the downpour of rain, it had pelted against the window pane while she had sat at her desk under a dim light. It had become a welcome escape from her husband, who was undoubtedly stretched out on their bed snoring lightly. But now as she opened the thatched windows and breathed in the fresh air, Daenerys could not help but be saddened by the argument which had taken place. Lately, she had not been able to spend much time with her husband and it had taken its toll on their relationship. They had come to the North for a scenic break from the heat of Essos. Her ancestors had been exiled across the Narrow Sea hundreds of years before and it was only in the last century that they had been granted access once more.

The hands of the ticking clock which sat solitary in the corner of the desk told her that it was just before dawn, but not yet an acceptable time to rise for breakfast. However, the mild spring wind called to her and she found herself sliding on her thick robe and wellington boots. Daenerys crept out of the apartment which they were renting for the week, down the creaking stairs and then past the sleeping elderly woman. Mrs Wilding had been a lovely host from the moment they had knocked on the door, cases in hand following a rather long journey by boat, train and car. The older woman had set up a bed and breakfast following the death of her husband in the war, for she needed some source of income. This had been shared over a pot of tea, while Daario had taken their cases upstairs.

After wrenching open the stiff door with as little noise as possible, Daenerys’ cerulean eyes took in the beautiful landscapes ahead. On the horizon she could see the remains of an old, abandoned castle. She hoped to explore it, given the old books which she had been reading on the war of kings, back when wolves fought lions. Children's tales had been conceived from the history books and the fall of the wolves was known as a tragic point in history. Her own ancestors had suffered a similar fate, with only a few of their family tree remaining. Daenerys had always been interested in history of her family and the realms. There were even rumours that they had once had dragons, but myth and legends had fed that tale. There was no magic left in the world anymore.

“Daenerys,” a familiar voice called, causing her to turn quickly in reaction. Daario stood in the door frame, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest with an apologetic look on his features. It had been a needless argument, if she was being honest with herself. He wanted to cut the trip short by a day, but she had argued against it. Even if they didn’t say it, in the end their argument and frustrations had not been about the trip, it was something far deeper.

With a sigh of defeat, Daenerys walked forward and pressed her hands to either side of his face, while his own encircled her waist. She was trying to remember what it was that made them fall passionately in love, so much so that they had married in a hurry and her brother had questioned if she had gotten herself pregnant - she had not. Soft lips pressed against her own, it was delicate but not passionate. All of their happy memories felt like a different life, they had spent too much time apart. It was saddening, for at the age of twenty five, she felt as though she ought to have more passion and excitement in her life. Perhaps, she was destined to live a life of quiet existence, but she often felt astray like a wayward kite without a string.

“We’ll stay for the full week,” Daario assured her, as they parted from their kiss. She merely nodded and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “We had better go upstairs and get dressed. I don’t wish for Mrs Wilding to see us in our nightwear,” he responded, motioning to the silken slip that was peeking out through her robe.

“Mrs Wilding was a married woman. I am sure she would understand,” she replied in a teasing tone, although there was little playfulness to her mood. She was trying to be the loving wife she was when they were barely adults, young and head over heels in love. His arm wrapped around her from behind and lead her back inside. Quickly, she slipped off her wellies and then crept back up the stairs with a resigned sigh. Smile and pretend to be happy, eventually she would believe it. Daenerys remembered that she ought to write a letter to her brother, telling him how wonderful her trip was going. If Viserys believed her, well that was another matter entirely. He always saw through her little white lies.

“After breakfast, I’m going to take the car if that’s alright darling? I wish to visit the castle ruins of Winterfell,” she told him, all the while slipping on her brassiere. He was watching her dress and she wondered if he longed to touch her, to feel her loving caress. Daenerys could count on one hand the amount of times which they had enjoyed sex following their return to one another, both hoped that the fresh air and cosy nights would lead them back into a loving embrace - so far, it had not.

Daario nodded at her before walking over, pressing a kiss between her bare shoulder blades. “We should renew our attempts to add to our family,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, which caused her to take in a sharp breath. It had always been her desire to have a family, but they had spent so little time before they were parted by war. Their efforts had not been fruitful, but she could not help but feel it was a blessing. A child could not mend the rift between them, they needed to do it themselves. Plastering a smile on her lips, she turned and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Tonight,” she assured him and then promptly turned away to take her blue silk button-down dress out of the wardrobe. The latest fashion included dresses which fell just above the calf and cinched in at the waist, before flowing loosely down in long rippling fabric.

When she walked down for breakfast, Mrs Wilding was there to greet her. She was a portly woman with greying hair and naturally flushed cheeks, her eyes were kind and her grip strong. Daenerys would miss her company when they left to go back to Essos. “Good morning to you, Mrs Naharis,” the woman sung, placing a pot of tea down on the cloth lined table. Crumpets, cheese, jams and bits of bacon followed this. Some found it strange, but Daenerys loved to place cuttings of cheese onto her crumpets with lashings of butter.

“Good morning Mrs Wilding. You’ve put on a lovely spread for us.” Daenerys had never been particularly talented in the kitchen, she often left that to Daario. Instead, she liked to sit in her study and work on her newest novel. Some of the ladies from her town frowned at her, thinking that she ought to do more womanly things. In their eyes, she was a failure. Their wealth meant that they they had a maid and a cook, so Daenerys did not do that. And then there was the lack of children, the true marker of her own misgivings. Friends her age were already on their second or third child. 

Her closest friend Missandei would be pitied for the rest of her life, it was expected. Mr Grey, more fondly known as Greyworm for amusement purposes had been injured in the war and confined to a wheelchair. However, following the influx of illegitimate children during the war meant that there was an option for adoption, Daenerys had offered this to her friend. Missandei would never have her pity, but would always have her love and support. She had always prided herself on being a good friend and her fiery tongue meant that any slight against anyone she loved would never be ignored.

“Oh thank you, dear. I enjoy having someone to take care of.” She felt for Mrs Wilding, to lose a husband after so many years of love and happiness. If Daario had died in the war she would have been heartbroken, but she would’ve moved on eventually. They had not yet built their lives together. Instead, she had sat in their big house all alone and it was there that her passion for writing truly sprouted. Her books turned out to be more successful than she ever expected them to be. 

Sat in a chair which was directly under the beams of sunlight which streaked through the glass window, her light hair looked almost silver in it’s elegant updo of rolls and curls. Daenerys scraped butter over toast, before plopping a generous amount of raspberry preserve onto it. Mrs Wilding poured tea into a dainty decorated teacup, and then placed milk and sugar beside it. Daenerys poured a splash of milk and a spoon of sugar into her tea, before giving it a generous mix. The cup was warm to the touch, but the brew was deeply appreciated as she took a sip.

It was a few minutes later before Daario joined the table, and she zoned out of the conversation as he spoke with Mrs Wilding about fixing the front door for her. He had always been a hands on kind of guy. Her gaze followed the scenery behind her, neck craning to take a closer look, through the window where she could see other houses in Wintertown and the far hills beyond where the ruins of Winterfell remained, decaying and old. Her heart pounded in her chest as she glanced more closely at it, she desperately wanted to visit it.

“Dany, did you hear me?” Daario’s loud voice interrupted her and she forced her head to turn away from the captivating sight. Quietly, she shook her head at her husband who held his knife and folk in mid-air, an expectant look plastered on her face. “Mrs Wilding has invited us to the celebration of the Old Gods this evening, in the Godswood.” At that, Daenerys smiled genuinely for the first time in days.

“How marvelous! I’m fascinated to see the celebrations. Thank you for inviting us, Mrs Wilding,” she smiled brightly, pushing away the remainder of her breakfast. It would of course delay the nighttime activities which Daario was hoping for, but she certainly didn't mind. “Darling, where are the car keys?” she asked, preparing to stand up. He held up his hand to stop her, instead drawing back his own chair to go and locate them for her. It was all done without him speaking a single word to her. 

"Where will you be going to?" The elderly woman was full of questions, but Daenerys did not mind. 

"The ruins of Winterfell. I read all about what happened there and I am fascinated to see it for myself," she admitted, she noticed the way Mrs Wilding's features changed. It was as though she were hiding a secret. "Mrs Wilding do you..."

"Here you are, darling," Daario chimed, walking in with the keys hanging from one of his fingers. At that she saw no need to waste any further time, she rose from her spot and took the keys from her husband. She pressed a kiss to his lips quickly, pulled her long grey coat from the iron hanger and slipped it over her slender body. 

"I'll see you later!" she called, opening the creaking door. The maroon coloured car sat awaiting her, all shining and new. Daenerys took in a deep breath as climbed into the car and slammed the door. It was only then that she heard the crunching sound of gravel, and her husband was standing next the car. He leaned over the door and pressed a more urgent kiss to her lips. "Don't stay there too long. I have a surprise for you later," he murmured against her lips. Once again, she nodded at him before starting up the engine. The mode of transport had only been around for the past twenty years, so there were not an awful lot of cars on the road at all. 

The journey to Winterfell would not take long, for Wintertown was only on the outskirts of the castle. She enjoyed the freedom of the drive away from Daario's desperate stare. He always wanted to please her but refused to admit that they were not the same as they once were. Another car passed her by, the crackle of the radio could be heard as the couple within the vehicle appeared to be laughing and singing to one another. A quaint sight. 

It was not long before she could clearly make out the entrance to the ruins, it was an exciting sight. Anticipation thrummed in her veins as she stopped the car and swung open the door. The excitement made her feel hot, so she discarded her coat and left it in the seat of the car.

Grey stone looked charred and broken in places, while some structures almost looked fully formed. It was a sad day when the lions defeated the wolves and she could feel it in the air. There had been terrible loses within the walls, families had been torn apart and noblemen had been murdered or captured. War prisoners had been tortured, mutilated and defiled. She had read of the horrific punishments which the Lannister’s had inflicted, most favourably with a man turned monster called The Mountain. Lord Stark had raised swords against the crown when his uncle had been murdered in the capital, that had been only part of the story but it lead to a series of events that none could escape.

Petite fingers dragged over the stone, a gasp caught in her throat as she followed a tunnel underground. It was there that she came across old statues. Covered in cobwebs and chipped in places, Daenerys had to scrape away dirt to uncover the names. “Brandon Stark,” she murmured, looking up at his profile. She felt for this noble family, the history books often spoke fondly on the wardens of the North and later Kings of the North.

She explored the grounds for a while longer before she exited it and followed the grassy path to the Godswood

Above her a flash of light could be seen in the rolling clouds, and then a thunderous roar hit her ears. It was as though the sky was bellowing at her. Swallowing deeply she took another step inside the Godswood, and it was though all sound had been stripped away. Daenerys could hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears, hands shook as she walked further in. It was strange to feel such a sense of belonging in an unknown place. Her blue eyes were stuck on the heart tree, she felt as though it could see into her very soul.

Fingers reached out, at first it was tentative and then it became more desperate. The moment she did a wave of sickness fell over her, it was unlike anything that she had ever felt. The sound of thunder returned to her as she felt her body collapse into the cushion of red leaves which lay upon the bed of the wood.

When she awoke darkness had fallen, and she half expected to see others preparing for the celebrations. But instead she was met with silence, she clambered up still dizzy, only to then trip over a protruding branch and stumble once more. A sharp pain shot through her ankle, and she let out a sudden cry. “Seven Hells! Stupid bloody branch,” she grumbled, dusting down her dress. Red leaves were caught in the curls of her hair, which had ungracefully come undone from the elegant bun that she had earlier. Daario would wonder what on earth she had been up to. Daenerys kicked off her short heeled shoes, attempting to stand only to find that pain shot up her leg. She had only twisted her ankle, but it hurt.

“Who’s there?” a voice called, causing her head to spin in that direction. Not a wise choice considering the nauseous feeling that she was still trying to ignore. “Hello!” she called, looking into the darkness. She wondered why she could not see the light of Wintertown from her, it was very strange. Earlier she had been able to distinguish the thatched roofs from her vantage point high up in the hills. “I twisted my ankle,” she announced when she saw a figure walking towards her.

A man covered in furs was visible only under the moonlight, his dark inky curls were tied up in a small, practical bun and his body was laden with furs and leathers. What struck her as been most shocking was the visible sword which was tied around his waist. “How did you get into here? Who are you?” his voice was gruff, and despite his accusatory tone his grey eyes were not unkind.

“I’m Daenerys,” she explained, frowning deeply. Past the figure of the man she could see the structure of the castle, not crumbling as she had seen it, but solid and stood proudly. Was she dreaming? “Who are you?” she asked, leaning on a tree for support. It was not the precious tree that she had touched before, for that seemed disrespectful.

“Jon Stark, King in the North.”

She felt her quivering legs give way, as shook took over her body. Rationally, she knew that what he was telling her was not possible and yet, here he was. Perhaps, it was all part of the celebration which was due to take place in the Godswood. But that did not explain why the ruins of Winterfell were no longer in ruin.  
“

I need to leave,” she whispered, pressing a dirty hand to her forehead. He was hovering above her with a grim look on his face, all the while extending a hand out to pluck her from the ground.

“You’re not going anywhere yet. We need to talk about how you got into this Godswood without any of the guards being alerted to your presence. How did you even get past the gates of Winterfell?”

One thing Daenerys knew for sure was that she was no longer in the year 624.


	2. Northern Hospitality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support on the first chapter! Your words of encouragement mean a great deal to me. Two chapter in two days. Now, this isn't going to be a regular occurrence, but I'm a little excited. I'm working on Chapter 4 at the moment, and Chapter 3 is all ready to be posted on Sunday. Please give this chapter some love and let me know what you think.
> 
> Bit of a side note, I've literally had 'The Veil of Time' - Bear McCreary, on repeat since I started writing this story.
> 
> If you want a few spoilers regarding the Stark family, check out this family tree I made! You'll see where changes have been made, where some characters have been cut out and new ones have been added ( my she-wolf ). http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g257/medicisalviati/STARK-FAMILY-TREE_zpsbqycbuwm.png

**Winterfell, Westeros**

**303 AC**

 

Rather than remain in the damp soil with leaves clinging to her ruined silk dress, Daenerys took the strong arm which was offered to her. Despite the inquisition which she would face, she did not feel frightened by the gentleman. If the tales were to be believed Jon Stark had been a nobleman. Her mind attempted to piece together the puzzle which was unfolding before her. If she was in the time when Jon Stark had declared himself king, that meant that the Northern lands were not safe. Too vast and too wild to be conquered, they had once said. But with the Bolton rebellion and the aid of other treacherous Northern houses, the Lannisters had been granted access into the very heart of the North. It was ruinous for the Stark family.

It was not safe for her to reveal her surname of Targaryen, and Naharis would be too foreign for these Northerners. She needed to think quickly, smartly. Daenerys could only thank the gods that she had not inherited the distinctive purple eyes of the Targaryens which had long since died out. Now, their hair was light blonde and their eyes a bright blue. She knew it would be foolish to proclaim herself as anything but a Southerner, but who?

“What house do you hail from?” Jon enquired, as he guided her through the wood, Daenerys had a slight limp, but the pressure was certainly eased by the man’s assistance. For a moment she was silent, but she knew not to stay that way for too long. It would only add to the suspicion. Dark times meant that a stranger was not immediately greeted with kindness, for they could be a spy from the other side. She was too far North for them to think she was merely there for the scenery.

“Velaryon,” she lied smoothly, continuing to grip onto his arm for support. It was entirely untruthful, her mother Rhaella was a Velaryon who married a Targaryen. “Cousin to Monford Velaryon. He burned on his ship a few years ago during the Battle of Blackwater.” Daenerys was desperately attempting to remember everything written about the battle of Five Kings and the supporting families. She knew that being a Southerner would cause mistrust among the Northmen. But she just needed to get a moment alone. She knew that she had fallen through time after touching the Weirwood tree, it had to be the answer.

She wondered if Daario was looking for her, what would he think? All he would find is an abandoned car with the key still in it and her coat resting on the seat. There would be no letter of explanation, nothing but a terrible silence and a promise that she would be back before it had gotten dark. Had her disappearance interrupted the celebrations of the Old Gods? She hoped not. Mrs Wilding had been so excited about it, as had she. Daenerys had been so excited to attend,

“And what exactly are you doing in Winterfell, Lady Velaryon?” His steps had halted, and she could see that there were crowds of people shuffling over the courtyard of Winterfell. It was fascinating to see the castle in all of it’s glory, she would cherish the sight when she returned to her own time. But first, she needed to get back to her own time.

Daenerys glanced at the ring on her finger and sighed, “I was running away with my husband. The Lannisters knew of my cousin’s support for Stannis Baratheon’s cause and I had fallen in love with a nobody. I knew that if I stayed I would be questioned and my mother showed little favour towards my husband. On the passage from the Driftmark to White Harbour, my husband passed away,” she allowed tears to well up in her eyes, she thought of Mrs Wilding and the loss which the woman had endured. Mr Wildling had caught an infection on the passage back to the North and had died. “I got lost in the wilderness of the North.”

“You’re chilled through to the bone. Why are you running around in nothing but your nightgown?” he asked, motioning to the blue silk which she wore. It was completely impractical for the cold North and not at all like the thick woolen gowns which they wore. She noticed that he seemed to be a little embarrassed by his statement. Were Northerners prudish?

She could not very well tell him that it was all that she had been wearing, for that was completely ridiculous. Daenerys winced as she stepped on a stone, her bare feet not used to the harness of the ground. “It would’ve been easier for me to throw you over my shoulder. But I think that would give off the wrong impression. Don’t want my men to think it’s okay to treat a lady that way,” he gave her a stern look, as she continued to limp through the courtyard with him. People were starting to look at her, likely wondering what whore the king had dragged in.

They came to a complete stop when a tall, elegant looking lady smiled at them. There was a youthfulness to her features, but the strength in her eyes was unmistakable. “Who is this?” she asked, coming to stand in front of them. Daenerys meets her gaze, refusing to cower beneath anyone. She’s not a wallflower, she refuses to be a prisoner too.

“Lady Daenerys Velaryon,” she introduced herself, testing the name on her own lips. It’s not entirely dissimilar to her own name, but Targaryen was certainly not safe beyond the Free Cities. She watched the lady frown, and the way she immediately cast an alarmed look towards Jon.

“Jon,” Sansa started, only to be cut off.

“Not now, Sansa. You can lecture me later without an audience,” he grumbled, letting out a huff. “I need you to get a room prepared for our guest. I need to speak with her in private, but then I would appreciate if you would get someone to help her bathe and dress. The maester will also need to inspect her ankle,” he ordered. Daenerys noticed the way Sansa’s nose flared slightly before she nodded her head and promptly turned away.

“My cousin Sansa,” Jon explained, guiding her inside. The walked in silence for a while, at least until they reached his study. All the while, Daenerys could see the judgemental gazes of others and vile whispers. They likely took her appearance as being scantily clad, where she belonged in a whore house and not within the walls of Winterfell. It was true that she was that chilled that her nipples had become rather prominent, sticking out against the light fabric. If Jon noticed, she imagined he would look flushed once more.

He turned to face her as she noticed the way his gaze caught sight of her situation, before flashing to her face. He collected a blanked which sat folded on one of the chairs in his study and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was then urged to sit beside the fire, as he took a seat in front of her.

“Are you a spy, Lady Velaryon? It is said that the Master of Whispers has many spies,” he looks her straight in the eyes, his gaze unmoving. Her mouth went dry, for she knew that it was a question which would repeatedly be asked. Daenerys also knew that even if she were a spy, their cause was already lost. The man who sat before her would know great loss and anguish, beyond what he could possibly imagine. His fate is already sealed.

“I am no spy, your grace. I told you, I was running from certain death. Aside from my cousins son, I am the last Velaryon. My marriage brought much shame to my mother, for he was nothing more than a fisherman. But he would tell me the most wonderous stories about the sea and I was a fool with my heart,” she proclaimed, picking at a stray strand which had unraveled from the woolen blanket.

“And why is that you have survived the North in nothing more than your nightgown?” he enquired, and she found the insinuation to be complete abhorrent.

“Excuse you, your grace! I am no whore,” she spat, eyes ignited with fury. She stood and turned away from him, before proceeding to pace the length of his study. “I have known only the pleasure of one man...my husband. I have no desire to lie back and allow a man with loose morals and belly full of ale to defile me. But I have recently been parted with my clothes after a man tried to take me, but I left in a heap on the floor from where my foot struck him beneath the legs,” she ranted, continuing to pace the floor. It was though she was letting out all of her frustration into this one rant with a stranger whom she would never see again.

“As for how I got past the guards, well you clearly need better guards. I hoped only to find sanctuary and a meal as a lady, only to be accused of being a spy and a whore. These times are certainly troubled, but I am merely a woman caught in a war which I have no part and no place in.”

Jon had not moved from his chair, but he was looking at her with a focused gaze. There may have been slight mirth in his eyes, but she could have mistaken that. “My apologies, my lady. Our Northern hospitality has become a little lax lately. I did not intend to insinuate that you were a whore, but I understand my error in judgement.”

“You are welcomed to share my table. However, I request that you send no ravens. While I understand that your family may be concerned for your well-being, I cannot risk a Southerner sending secret messages who would aid our enemies.” Daenerys went to argue once again that she was no spy, but he held up his hand. “While I believe that you are not a spy, my lord will not be so easy to persuade. Sansa says that I am a noble fool like my uncle, and I dare say she is right. That is why I have advisors around me. You will be safe here, Daenerys. But please, do as I ask.” She understood that there was no arguing with him on that matter. All she needed to do was wait until nightfall, and then she would return to the Weirwood tree and go back to her own time.

A knock sounded against the door and Jon called for them to enter. It was Sansa. Her narrow face looked directly at her and then back to Jon, “The bath has been prepared for Lady Daenerys. I’ve informed the staff of our presence and she is to sit beside you at dinner.” Sansa looked back at her and motioned for Daenerys to move, “I’ll show you to your chambers.”

It was surprising just how warm Winterfell was, but she understood that to be because of the hot springs which were underneath the castle. The stone walls were warm to the touch and as she entered her chambers, she was charmed by how comfortable and cosy it looked. While it was not overly dressed, it had a carved oak bed with thick furs and at the end a large trunk, not that she had anything to store in there. A mirror rested on the wall and there was a tray with empty goblets on the vanity. Beside the bed a tin bath had been filled, and cotton sheets lined the base and sides of it to protect her skin.

“The water may be a little too hot. It has only just been boiled,” Sansa announced, motioning for the maid to begin undressing Daenerys. The heat had never bothered her, it was Targaryen blood. Even centuries later, some of their traits still remained within her.

“I enjoy hot baths. Thank you, Lady Sansa,” she smiled, refusing to blush as she maid pulled off her dress. Aside from Daario fixing the back of her dress, she had not been unclothed by another since she was a child too young to do it herself. The maid seemed to frown at her lingerie, it wasn’t exactly time appropriate. “It was a gift from the free cities,” she explained, which wasn’t entirely a lie. Sansa had not yet left the room, and was instead piling clothes onto a chair. “These were my friend Jeyne’s. She has grown too tall for them, but they should fit you,” Sansa explained, moving to put a brush and some oils on the vanity. Daenerys was certain that there were still weirwood leaves in her hair.

“Leave us, Walda,” she ordered to the maid, who merely curtsied and left the chambers. She knew that where Jon appeared to be a northern fool, his cousin was not so easily fooled. It would take more than one conversation to get Lady Sansa to trust her, but there wasn’t a real need for it. She would be gone soon.

With her naked body exposed, Daenerys saw that there was nothing more to do other than climb into the bath. The liquid was steaming, but as she slipped into it, she felt only comfort. Sansa touched the water and then flinched, before looking at Daenerys with sudden alarm, “Is that not scolding you?” she asked, frowning.

She shook her head and reclined back a little more, “I have always been able to tolerate high heat.” Sansa gave her a surprised look before turning to walk behind her. It was not long before Daenerys felt the pins being pulled from her hair, undoing what was left of her updo. Scented oils filled her nostrils and she realised that the lady was washing her hair, likely trying to make her feel comfortable before bombarding her with questions.

“Aurane Waters came to King’s Landing after Lord Monford’s death. I was still a prisoner at that time. Did you know him well?” Sansa’s inquiry was casual in it’s tone, but she knew better than to be tricked by that. For the life of her, Daenerys could not remember who he was. But Waters meant that he was a bastard from the Waterlands. She tried to think if Monford had any relatives who were bastards, but her memory was a little hazy. “Once or twice. We did not know each other too well, but I spent most of my life at High tide and not the Driftmark.”  Sansa hummed in response and started to comb through her flaxen strands. In certain lights her hair looked silver, but in others it was more of a light honey blonde.

“Why were you in the Godswood? Don’t the Southerners all pray to the Seven?”

“I was lost. In truth, I wasn’t sure who to speak with and I was distracted by the sight of the wood. It’s beautiful in there.” Daenerys scrubbed at her body, removing all traces of dirt from her skin. There were a few cuts from her feet and her ankle certainly looked swollen. She hoped that the maester wouldn’t try anything radical to heal her, which in the 7th century is considered to be ineffective or dangerous.

She heard Sansa put down the brush and then watched as the Lady headed towards the chamber door. “I’ll send Walda back in so that she can help you dress.”

When Sansa left, Daenerys truly felt herself relax for the first time since she had awoken in this new time. She thought of her life back in 624 and how simple it was compared to the people in this land. It was harrowing to know their fates before it happened, she knew of all of their deaths. Notable names included Jon and Sansa’s, there were other Starks too but she had not met them yet. The tale of Sansa Stark was a tragic one, she was certain that no girl deserved peace more. But it would never come.

Daenerys wondered what she should tell Daario. She couldn’t very well say that she had travelled back in time, he would think she was raving mad. Would he accuse her of spending the night with another man? Probably. He could be very jealous and he asked that when he returned from the war. Dany had been disgusted by the insinuation.

When Walda walked back in, Daenerys had risen from the bath and stepped out. It wasn’t pain-free and she winced when her left ankle hit the ground. She had almost buckled under her own weight, as she had done earlier. Walda had been there to hold her steady. One by one layers were placed on Daenerys’s body. It started with a near transparent shift, her form still easily detected through the light fabric. Then a light gown was placed on her, it skimmed the floor in ice blue and had long flowing sleeves and a wrap-over front, very similar to Sansa’s own style. Daenerys’s larger chest meant that her breasts were slightly more on show, but it didn’t bother her. A woolen gown of pale grey was placed over the underlayer, which followed the silhouette but allowed some of the blue material to peek through. Walda braided her long hair simply, adding some of Daenerys’s pins where necessary.

“Sit on the bed, Lady Daenerys. I’ll let in Maester Tarly,” Walda announced, walking over to the door to undo the latch and allow a stream of light in. A plump, kind-faced man walked in as Daenerys sat down, shuffling the shirts of her gown so that she did not trip and injure herself further.

“Lady Sansa tells me that you have injured your foot. I am Samwell Tarly, the Maester of Winterfell. Could I take a look?” he enquired, walking closer to her. She nodded in agreement, watching as he dragged the chair from her vanity over the bed. Sam sat in front of her and then asked her to place her foot on his lap. Daenerys lifted up her left leg, wincing when she caught her ankle slightly on the edge of the chair.

For a few minutes the maester was silent, before he then produced a vial from a box he had brought in with him. “A draught to ease the pain and help you to sleep. You need to rest and keep your foot up. I do believe we should get you a cloth with some ice in, as it should reduce the swelling. If it were not for political reasons I would caution you against attending the banquet, but I fear it would cause far too many grumblings amount the Northmen. So, I suggest that you do not stay too long and then rest a lot. I don’t want to see you walking around the halls tomorrow.” Not too radical then. At least he didn't suggest that her foot be chopped off.

“Thank you, Maester Tarly,” she smiled, noticing that Walda had disappeared - likely taking Samwell’s suggestion as an order to go and fetch some ice. She supposed that she could press it to her foot for a little while before someone came to get her for the banquet. Once she was dismissed from the meal, Daenerys would excuse herself and instead of going back to her room, she would travel to the Weirwood tree and home.

Walda entered just as Samwell was leaving, as expected there was a bundle of cloth and a bucket of ice within her grasp. The dark haired lady wrapped cloth around ice and then did as Samwell had before, sat in front of Daenerys and asked for her foot. Daenerys let out a short yelp when the cold compression hit her tender skin, but the shook soon withered away. It was rather soothing and a relief from the constant pain.

She was comfortably settled and listening to Walda talk about her grandchildren when a short knock hit the door, and only a few moments later Jon was there.

“Are you ready?” he asked, forcing her to nod. Yes, she was ready! As interesting as it was to truly experience the true life which she had only read about, Daenerys belonged in another time which she needed to return to.


	3. Monsters and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Be aware of the tags for this one, darlings! There’s attempted rape, but this 100% will be the only chapter in which this takes place. It’s definitely not going to be as common as it is in Outlander.
> 
> Thank you for the love and support that this story is getting! I am truly grateful and it inspires me to write more. Chapter four is all written up and I'm working on Chapter five. The next update should be in a few days time. Until then, don't forget to comment, bookmark and kudos!

**303 AC**

**Winterfell, Westeros**

The sounds which greeted Daenerys were loud and joyful, the Northern drawl filling the castle with music and laugher. Once again she walked with the support of Jon, although she supposed it must’ve looked rather strange for the King in the North to be aiding her like a human walking stick. When they entered the banquet hall, the laughter died down. All eyes turned to look at them, at her. She felt so exposed that she may as well have been naked. No, she would not cower beneath their gave. She was a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon was still surging within her veins.

While most looked at her as a foreigner, a few glances caused her skin to crawl. She had met enough lewd men to know when they were fantasizing about fucking her. No matter what century it was, there would be disgusting people in every one.

She kept her chin high and her posture straight, refusing to exude anything except confidence and grace. While the people looked her frostily, they cheered as their king stood before them. Daenery took the chair to his right, using the high back as support as she remained standing. The sprained ankle was already getting on her nerves and it had only been a few hours!

“My lords! Thank you for joining me this evening. Let us also welcome Lady Daenerys Velaryon, she is my guest and will be treated as such. I ask that you do not speak about this outside of these castle walls, for we are offering sanctuary to her from the Lannisters,” Jon started, only for a round-bellied man in pale blue cloth to step forward grumpily. The sigil of a mermaid was clearly visible, leading her to believe that it was Lord Manderly.

“What if she is a Lannister spy?” It took all of her control to not roll her eyes. She heard some others grumble in agreement, and Jon went to speak once more when she interrupted him.

“I respect your concerns regarding my intentions, my lord. Your king has been kind enough to offer me sanctuary and in return I will do all that I can to ensure that I gain your trust. The Lannisters do not look kindly upon my family and I found myself unsafe. Surely you can understand that my gentler sex forces me to fear for my safety far more than any brave man?” It was a load of bollocks. Daenerys certainly did not believe that a man was any braver than a woman, or that she was the gentler sex. But she needed to stroke their Northern pride. Through the corner of her eye, she saw Jon brooding and could not decide if she thought she had spoken out of turn or not. It was not as though she would stay around to endure the consequences.

“Let us all eat,” Jon announced, allowing the crowd to all sit. Daenerys was grateful for the relief of pressure from her foot. Plates piled high with fresh meats, pies and vegetables were carried into the hall, causing her stomach to grumble. She had not realised just how hungry she was and the slice of toast which she had this morning had certainly not stuffed her.

Dainty fingers reached for a bread roll only to be stopped by Jon’s hand. He looked at her with a stubbornness brandished on his features. She hadn’t noticed before how handsome he was, although she wasn’t sure why that mattered. It simply surprised her since there was never any Queen in the North written in the history books. Even with the slight scar over his eye, it was undeniable that he was nice to look at. But she could see that his expression was not pleased, he must not have liked her speaking out. “I can control my own Lords, Lady Daenerys. But I can't deny that you’ve put them in a better mood,” he grumbled, dropping her hand.

Pleased with herself, Daenerys took a sip of the wine and then pulled a face. It was sourer than she was used to. She could almost see Jon chuckling at her. Once again she renewed her attempt to take a bread roll, this time snapping it in half and taking a bite. She looked at the pile of food wondering what would take her fancy before she leaned forward and took the soup ladle. In one of the great iron pots was a delicious smelling stew.

Scoping a ladle into her bowl, she then dipped her bread into the stew. A slight moan escaped her lips when she tasted the sauce, it was divine! Almost immediately she heard Jon cough and clear his throat, the tops of his ears growing red. Northerners were definitely prudish.

On the other side of her sat a young boy, “What is your name?” she enquired softly, raising a brow. In the silence Daenerys took a mouthful of stew, allowing it to warm her up and fill her empty stomach. The auburn haired boy dusted the crumbs from his hands onto his shirt and then stretched out his hand to her, “Rickon Stark,” he announced with a smile, before turning back to his food. While his features were similar to Jon’s they were not exact and his hair was a darker tone of Sansa’s, perhaps a brother? It was clear that while the boy had been polite in his response, he was more interested in his food.

Daenerys looked out at the cluster of Northerners, noticing that some eyes did remain fixed upon her. Some with suspicion, others with lust and there were those with malice. She had never felt so unwelcome in a place before. She was more desperate than ever to get back to her own time.

“I feel a little weary from the pain and Maester Tarly recommended that I get a lot of rest. Would you find if I was excused?” she questioned, looking at Jon. Her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest and she had to stay in control of her emotions. Daenerys could not have him thinking anything was amiss.

“Of course. Do you need someone to escort you?” he enquired, placing down his fork. She shook her head suddenly, offering him a reassuring glance.

“No need. I remember the way to my chambers and it is not far. Thank you for your hospitality, I appreciate it.” Making it sound like it was not a goodbye,even though it was, she promised to speak with him in the morning.

As Daenerys exited the banquet hall, she looked for the closest door which leads outside. It required stealth to not be seen by the guards, but as she hid behind a stone wall, Daenerys could think only of home. The moon hung in the sky brightly, guiding her way back to the Godswood. With everyone inside it meant that the courtyard was abandoned, allowing her to quickly move across it without being detected ( as much as her foot allowed ). From there she continued to walk with a fast pace until she reached the godswood, pain continued to shoot up her leg from the effort.

Her chest heaved from exhaustion, her brow sweaty and her body hot. Daenerys clung to a tree for support, allowing her to gather her wits. Intaking a deep breath she rushed forward, recognising the familiar tree. A cry of relief came from her mouth as she limped over to it. Where there was a once a pull for her to touch the tree, that had dissipated. All that was left was the beat in her heart.

Laying her palms upon the pale bark, she closed her eyes and waited for the sickening feeling. It never came. Instead, she found herself staring up at the tree and pressing her palms even harder against the trunk. “Please,” she cried, hoping that this day in the 4th century would be over.

Suddenly, Daenerys felt a strong grip on her wrists as she was spun around. At first, she was too shocked to make a sound, but when she realised what had happened she opened her mouth only to be silenced by a hand. A male body pressed her into the tree, his breath on her neck. She recognized him, he had been at the banquet. He was one of the men who had been giving her a look like he wished to devour and destroy her. Hot tears welled up in her eyes as she was pushed to the floor, more pain spearing up her leg.

The hand left her mouth, allowing Daenerys to cry out in both fear and pain. Red leaves cushioned her body as the man pressed his clothed body against her. The front of her borrowed gown was torn under his brutal grasp, allowing her breasts to be exposed. His hands started to assault her chest, sliding over her nipple as she clawed at the ground to get away. “Little whore,” he growled against her ear as she began to cry. No, you mustn't cry, Daenerys, she told herself.

His hand slid up her skirt, pulling it higher and higher. Daenerys kicked out her legs, desperate to clamber away from him. Stupid entitled men! Panic gripped her as she saw him starting to unbuckle his trousers. “Stop. Please stop,” she pleaded, pushing against him. She used her nails to scratch him, all the while attempting to angle her knee between his legs.

“You’ll be begging me for it,” he spat at her, he then proceeded to laugh. It was cut short by the gurgling sound of him choking on blood. Daenerys lay there in shock when a petite girl retracted a thin sword from the man’s mutilated neck. Blood splattered across her, but the body fell to the side allowing her to scramble away. Instead, she sat huddled in the corner, breathing rapidly with her mind turning into a fog.

“Daenerys!” Jon’s voice was easily distinguished, but she couldn’t focus on him. Her hands were shaking, her body going into shock. It was as though she was drowning, her eyes feeling as though they had been plunged underwater. She remained on the ground, barely noticing when Jon wrapped his cloak around her exposed body and hoisted her into his arms. It was the same way in which Daario had carried her over the threshold when they were married.

His hold was safe as he carried her back inside, ordering a bath to once more be prepared for her. Daenerys could not speak, she had been content to sit there on the ground shaking. She could not understand why the Weirwood tree would not allow her to pass back through. She was stuck in the wrong time.

Lowering her onto her bed so that she sat facing him, he brushed stands away from her face. “Daenerys,” he murmured softly, rubbing her arms over the cloak. “You feel so cold.”

“Shock,” she mumbled, barely able to catch her breath. Daenerys could smell the man still, the alcohol on his breath and the rotten stench of his greasy hair. Her sapphire eyes glanced at her wrists, noticing the bruising which marked her porcelain skin. Stupid bastard!

She looked up to Jon and then back at her wrists. “Who was he?” she asked, finding her voice. It was a low tone, deep and venomous.

“Lord Manderly’s squire,” Jon explained, still nealt before her. “What do you need?” Home. She needed her home! In the few hours which she had been at Winterfell, she had injured her foot, been accused of being a spy and almost raped in the Godswood. A dark and dangerous time, indeed!

“Who was the girl that killed him?” she asked, recalling the girl with distinct Northern features. She had stormy grey eyes like Jon’s.

A tense smile tugged at Jon’s lips with that question, “My favourite cousin, Arya.” Daenerys nodded at that before glancing down at the gown she had been wearing, only to see that she was completely cloaked. It drowned her body, much too broad and long for her own petite figure - it felt safe.

“Why were you in the Godswood? I thought you were going to bed,” Jon asked her in a softer tone, it was more inquisitive than accusatory. But alas, it was once again up to her to tell another lie.

“I could not find my mother’s ring. I thought, perhaps, that it was in Godswood,” she explained putting her head into her hands. Daenerys needed to sleep, she was exhausted and frankly rather traumatised following her assailant's vicious attack. If not for Arya, she would have been raped.

Jon turned abruptly when the chamber door opened, as though he was ready to strike. Daenerys wondered if he was always this protective over his guests - most likely.

She watched him relax when Sansa walked in with two maids who were dragging in the tin bath. Clean fabrics were folded over the redhead's arm, which she lay over a chair. Sansa looked at Jon and the ordered him to leave. “I will sort out Daenerys. Come back with Sam in an hour.”

After Jon had left, Sansa moved to undress her. The warm cloak was removed first, which made Daenerys realise just how cold she was. Blood stained her skin and the front of the dress, it was both horrifying and gratifying to see. She could not believe that she had witnessed a man be killed, but he had surely deserved it. He had no claim on her body.

Daenerys felt the events of the day catch up with her and was almost certain that she was going to cry. But her mother told her that she was a Targaryens, that they were stronger than that. She couldn’t cry, even as her bottom lip threatened to quiver.

She climbed into the bath for the second time that evening, longing for the comfortable tub from Mrs Wilding’s bed and breakfast. The dusky pink curtains had concealed the moonlight as she had taken a long, relaxing soak the night before. It had been as quick as turning on the faucet, and nothing like waiting for two maids to fill it full of boiling water.

The remainder of the evening went in a blur, Daenerys had gone numb to it. She was dressed in a nightgown, tucked into bed and given a strong sleeping draught by Maester Tarly. Daenerys did not notice the way Jon watched over until she fell asleep, a brooding look on his features - as though he was deeply troubled.

When she was awoken the next morning, maids were already pottering around the chamber. One had placed a mug of something warm on the side for her, while another was settling bread and cheese down. For a moment she simply lay there, arms folded over the furs with a blank stare on her features. She had hoped that the day before had just been a terrible dream, and she would wake to hear Daario’s snoring and the sound of Mrs Wilding preparing breakfast downstairs.

Daenerys went to move from the bed, but Walda rushed over to her with a shaking head. “No mistress. Maester Tarly says that you are to stay in bed today.” Ah yes, she recalled his warning from the day before. She had not heeded his warnings, as she had not expected to still be here the next day.

“Very well.”

She turned over towards the wall, arms crossed over her chest. Today should have been the second to last day in the North, the day when Daario had initially wanted to leave. Her sleep had been dreamless, but only as a result of the tonic she had been given. It was doubtful that Daario had slept, he was likely worried sick. Even with their issues, if the roles were reversed, she would have worried about his safety.

Her fingers traced over the bruising on her wrists as she blinked away burning tears. She couldn’t allow herself to be consumed with fear or despair. Daenerys needed to understand more about the Weirwood tree. It had worked for her once, it must be able to work again. The final ounces of magic still left in the earth reserved for her.

Turning back over she faced Walda, “Would you mind getting me some books to read? I fear boredom will be my biggest ailment,” she sighed, struggling to shift herself into a sitting position. The blankets were heavy and her body was not willing to work with her. The woman nodded and left the room.

Daenerys threw back the covers, lifting her leg for inspection. Her foot was still really swollen and bruised, but it would heal. It was not the most comfortable position, with her foot propped up on several pillows. Sighing, she lay back and looked up at the ceiling. What a mess she had gotten herself into.

She must have drifted off for when she awoke, Jon Stark was stood a few feet away from her. As always, she struggled to read his expressions. It had always been easy enough to know what Daario was thinking, but Jon was something else entirely.

“I ask for your forgiveness, Lady Daenerys. I offered you safety and you have been harmed. I swear that no further harm shall befall you while I am here,” his words were full of regret.

“Stop with your brooding, Jon Stark!” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “The man was a bloody snake, but it was not your fault. You cannot control a man’s intent, especially one ruled with a need to violate. I do not blame you, but I shall become cross if you torture yourself over this.”  
He rose an eyebrow to her as he sat down, “You do know that I am king. Some would have you flogged for speaking to me in such a way. But I rather enjoy it. My mother was a strong woman.”

She recalled the Stark family tree, all the way back to Brandon the Builder. It had been Rickard Stark’s eldest son Brandon who had ignored his betrothal to Catelyn and instead married Ashara Dayne. Had Ned Stark not married Lady Catelyn, she was sure that the Tully’s would have risen up against the noblest Northern house. Brandon had died not long after, leaving his two-year-old son as his heir. Ned Stark had ruled in his stead until Jon came of age.

It was said that Ashara Dayne had been a great beauty. But she had also had a fierce elegance to her that others had admired. When Brandon died, it was not long before she followed. With her heart broken, she could no longer continue. Even after she birthed another infant, a young girl with matching features to her brother. Serena Stark.

“Are you an only child?” she enquired, folding her hands over her lap. There was not a lot written of Serena Stark, only that she Ashara had thrown herself from the window twelve days after her birth. It was said that Ashara’s pregnancy had been cut short by the trauma of losing a loved one.

Jon looked at her curiously before shaking his head, “No, I’m not. Why do you ask?”

Daenerys felt a chill run up her spine. It was awful to have a conversation with someone when you knew the date that they were going to die. Jon Stark’s head would one day rest upon a spike, as his uncle and father’s had before that.

“No particular reason, your grace,” she sighed, allowing a controlled mask to fall onto her face. Daenerys would not allow her emotions to betray her.

“I have never been very good with dates. My mother said that the years all seemed to blend into one. What year is it?” she enquired, feigning womanly stupidity.

“303,” Jon responded, causing her breath to catch. He would die in the summer of 304. “What is it?” he questioned, obviously noticing her reaction.

“Nothing. I tapped my bad foot with my other one.”

Daenerys realised that if she did not get back home, she too would suffer a similar fate.

 


	4. The Rider in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, my angels! I’m sorry it’s been so long. For whatever reason, this chapter would not write and I’ve also been so busy! However, I’ve now mapped out the outline for the rest of the story so we shouldn’t have this issue any longer. I hope you enjoy!

**Winterfell, Westeros**

**303 AC**

Despite the sudden and hurried arrival of the rider in the night, Daenerys did not hear of the news until the next morning. She awoke late, something which she had taken to doing since arriving at Winterfell. In her own time, Daenerys had always been the first to rise and usually the first to fall asleep, she did not enjoy late nights but she loved early mornings. But the land was cold and there was something incredibly comforting about the warmth of her bed, so she refused to move until Walda came in to dress her for the day. Or, perhaps, her reluctance to leave her chambers came from her traitorous mind, where her nights would be spent dreaming of a man, one that she certainly ought not to be thinking about.

For almost a month she had been a resident in Winterfell, the pains in her ankle all but diminished and the events of her encounter in the Weirwood, all but a horrible memory.  Daenerys had left the chambers wrapped in a warm gown of blue velvet, intend on hurrying towards the warmth of the hall, and only stopped when she heard commotion in the courtyard.

Slender arms folded over the wooden banister, which protected her from tumbling to the floor. From her vantage point, she could see two boys fighting with wooden sticks, their laughter filling the cold space. There was something so humbling about children playing, it served as a reminder that even in the darkest of times there could also be light.

Daenerys could not tear her eyes away from the sight. Every day that she spent in Winterfell brought her so much pain and also provided clarity for other issues in her life. She could not bear to watch these proud Stark loyalists speak of freedom and an independent North, when they would never succeed in gaining it. They would all die and Lord Bolton would take the title of Warden of the North. It was a reality she could not change, although she dared to hope that she could. Could she break the wheel of fortune and set the world on a new course? Or would she only make it worse? It is not as though the king would believe her, she’d be locked up as a madwoman.

One thing which had become clear to her in the two weeks that she had been at Winterfell was how much she missed Daario. It was not as a wife would long for a man, but she did yearn for his conversation. Passion had long gone and she no longer felt the burn to have him, to be consumed by his touch, but she wished to confide in him. She thought of him more as a friend than a husband, painful as that was to admit.

Her finger traced the golden band on her ring finger, a sadness once again weighing her down.

It was not all bad staying in Winterfell. She had begun to enjoy herself and the traditions which they had. Jon had shown her the library and she had spent many hours in there. Often, she was joined by Samwell Tarly - who was becoming something of a close companion to her. He had shed his titles as the Tarly heir, allowing it to pass to his younger, more stereotypically able of being a ruling lord - a farce if you asked Dany.

But when she was not with Sam, she was with Jon.

Daenerys had started to find it hard to ignore the spike in her heart when Jon would accidentally brush his hand against hers, or they would find themselves locked in a corner for too long. She had slipped in the snow one time, ended up pulling him with her - it had left them in a compromising position, with his body pressed against her own. Jon had been the first to move and for a moment she had laid there in the snow with heavy breaths. Stupid woman! It was no time for her to fall for another man. She was still married! Not to mention how dangerous the place was. But as Jon had promised, no one had dared to touch her after the events in the Godswood.

She noticed a group of people riding up onto the hills, who quickly gained the attention of others. People in the courtyard suddenly clustered together, speaking in hushed tones. Daenerys was curious about the visitors, for they seemed to garner a lot of attention. Whoever they were must have been of some great importance.

Lady Sansa broke through the crowd of people, pushing forward to wrap willowy arms around another woman. Daenerys noticed their matching hair and appearance and realised at once that it had to be Lady Catelyn. The comments made about her from Jon were terribly brief, strained - clearly, they did not have the best relationship. Not a lot was written about Lady Catelyn, only that she had been the daughter of Lord Hoster Tully and had originally been betrothed to Brandon Stark. She wondered if that was the reason for the ice between Jon and Catelyn. It seemed that Lord Brandon’s head had been easily turned, and it was only with the agreement of Lord Hoster that they were spared a war.

Daenerys wondered if it was rude of her to not greet the woman, but then she was not going to know of her anyway. For some, she might still be an unwelcome visitor.

She noticed dark fabric rippling out the corner of her eye. Jon was stood on the balcony too, not far from where she was. He too was looking down at the scene in the courtyard. “My aunt Lady Catelyn,” he announced gruffly, his face scrunched up and brooding. He did that a lot! “My sister arrived last night in a hurry. Everyone was concerned for the welfare of my aunt, Sansa is relieved.”

Narrowing the gap between them, Daenerys stood shoulder to shoulder with the King in the North wondering what kind of childhood he had. He was only young when the care of him and his sister was placed into his Aunt and Uncle’s hands. Were the kind to him? Was Catelyn resentful?

“Come,” Jon motioned, springing away from the wooden banister. Daenerys initially went to argue, a natural instinct when ordered to do something. She had never liked to follow orders and it was strange to be in the presence of a king, who had gained the respect of so many. “My sister is breaking her fast, we ought to join her. I would like to introduce you.”

The rise of trepidation in her stomach was foolish,  there was nothing to be scared of. Daenerys ought not to be concerned with meeting Jon’s sister - and yet she silently sought approval. A most annoying thought! She did not need to be validated by anyone. But the idea of anyone of Jon’s family not liking her was a hard pill to swallow. “Okay,” she responded graciously, fingers knitted together in hope of finding her courage.

Whenever they walked together, people stared. Walda told her of the servant's whispers, all of which speculated about the nature of the relationship regarding herself and Jon.

As they entered the hall, Daenerys noticed that a woman was sat in the spot that Sansa would usually take. The likeness between the stranger and Jon became more apparent, the closer that they go to the banquet table. Her raven curls were looser than Jon’s spirals, but the expressions they wore were far too similar. “Sister,” Jon greeted warmly, his footfalls loud and heavy as he quickened his pace and set a kiss upon the top of her head.

“You still treat me as though I am 5, brother,” the female grumbled, although there was only a smile on her lips. Daenerys watched the scene, feeling a pang of longing for her own brother. Her hot-headed, total mama’s boy brother, Viserys. The daft fool was her best friend, and that often meant they argued as frequently as they bonded.

“Serena, let me introduce you to our guest. Lady Daenerys Velaryon,”  he announced, motioning towards her. She felt herself stand taller, although she didn’t feel inclined to puff out her chest like a prized bird.

Serena stood from the table, grey eyes flitting over her. She looked elegant in her velvet gown, her stature very similar to her own, and Daenerys could not help but wonder if Sansa had given her Serena’s gown on that first night - probably. Since then she’d had her own closet of gowns made, all rich fabrics worthy of a princess, each one designed and requested by Sansa who even added some embroidery to some of them.

“Velaryon, you say?” Serena responded, pursing her plump lips. There was speculation in her gaze, Daenerys noticed it straight away, it was unnerving. The she-wolf did not say a thing for a few seconds, and it felt like much longer. Only when she was close to Daenerys did she smirk and play her hand, “That is not your name. But I'll keep your secret,” she whispered with a subtle wink, and then pressed a customary kiss to the side of Dany’s cheek. "I suspect it's better that way...for now." 

Heavily, she released a breath that she had no idea she’d been holding. Serena did not seem like a threat, but she could not help but feel wary of the young woman who clearly suspected her of lying. It was the truth, after all, she had the blood of the dragons in her veins and all the Targaryen looks.

With the initial awkwardness out of the way, Daenerys sat in the vacant seat to Jon’s right and smiled as she was served breakfast, steaming hot porridge with lashings of honey. There was something incredibly comforting about the Northern food, it put a warmth back into her belly and smiles on the faces of others.

"Come, sister, tell me of your visit to Lord Bolton," Jon demanded. The name forced ice into her veins, and her own head whipped around to look at Serena. It made so much more sense! She had never read of Serena Stark because she was only listed as Serena Bolton, the unhappy Lady of Winterfell and wife to Domeric Bolton, who almost died at the hands of his deranged bastard brother, Ramsay. Daenerys could not help the pity which seeped into her eyes, as her heart thundered in her chest. 

"As charming as ever," she responded with a scoff, an uneasy smile marked on her face."If not for the supervision of Aunt Catelyn, I do believe that Lord Bolton would have forced me to wed his son then and there. As though I would not have put up a fight. The idiot is only thinking with what's between his legs...the small amount that's there anyway." 

"Serena!" Jon responded, the tips of his ears glowing red from her brazenness. Daenerys was somewhat amused by it all, but she could not deter the sickening feeling which had taken over her. All she wanted to do was tell them all the bad things that would happen, in hopes that it would prevent the inevitable. When the time comes for the war to start, and Jon Stark rides out the neck and encounters the first of many betrayals, the end will come. 

"You seem awfully quiet, Daenerys." 

She looked up from her porridge which she had taken to stirring, for no reason other than to do something. "Oh, was I? Just thinking," she responded, in acknowledgment of Jon's probing. "Excuse me," she announced, excusing herself from the table. There was no time to watch their expressions as she abruptly left, emotion 

Her pace quickened as she made her way back to her chambers. _Do not cry. Don't let them see you cry._

A sob ripped from her mouth as she entered her chambers, back against the heavy door as she crumbled to the floor. She hated knowing their fate, hated the way that Jon made her feel and the pity she held for Serena who would live, but live miserably. She cried for everything, every pent-up emotion that she had to conceal simply because no one could possibly understand her. Who would believe her? She couldn't imagine that Jon would, he'd think she was a mad woman, like those who believed the stories told to children before bed. 

She cried so much that her head hurt, and her voice grew hoarse. 

Daenerys never allowed anyone to see her cry, not even Daario. But when the strong knock sounded against her door, she knew she had been discovered. It was either a coincidence or a purposeful visit to her chambers. Depending on who the person behind the door was, would very quickly determine the reasoning. But she did have an idea of who it was. 

She wiped her eyes with her velvet sleeve and reluctantly opened her chamber door. Her breath was ragged, and she knew that it was obvious she'd been crying. 

"Are you not well, my lady?" Jon questioned, concern wired in his voice. A smile was attempted, forced, but it quickly crumbled as she scrambled for a lie to tell him. 

"It is nothing," she dismissed, with the clearing of her throat. It was obvious that Jon neither accepter nor believed it. 

"You're not a very good liar, Dany." _Dany._ She thought of her brother who so often called her that name, and how much she missed him too. If only Jon knew just how much she was lying to him. 

"If you do not wish to discuss it, that is fine. But I ask that you come for a ride with me, we shall go to Wintertown." 


	5. Wintertown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most frequent question I get asked: Can history be adjusted? The answer: maybe, maybe not. But remember, all the rules regarding Claire’s time-travel set in Outlander may not apply to this story, I'm only taking inspiration from it.  
> Also, Wintertown is a little closer in the books than it is in this, merely for storytelling purposes.

Wrapped in a fine fur cloak made by Sansa, Daenerys stepped out of her chambers. The rims of her eyes were still reddened from where she had been crying, but her voice no longer quivered as it had done before. In a way, it had felt good to unleash her tears, as though she were releasing part of the heavy burden which she’d been shouldering. She ought to have known that Jon would not just allow her to wallow, or not check in on her. He was too good, far too good. He said that he had important business in Wintertown, but he also wished for her to experience what it was like there. It was often easy to forget that he was king, considering how personable he was being. From what she understood of the management of Winterfell, Lady Catelyn and Lady Serena shared duties as the lady of the household, since there was no queen. And from what Daenerys knew of history, there never would be a Queen of the North again. 

As they passed by the Tully turned Stark lady, whom Daenerys had not been formally acquainted with, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She knew better than to underestimate the fish. There was a spark of pure hatred in the older woman’s eyes, as they flashed over Jon, the lack of respect for the king plainly obvious. Dany already loathed the woman, and they had not yet even spoken. Call it womanly intuition. Her mother always said that she had a smart head on her shoulders, which was incredibly unforgiving. Daenerys never handled betrayals well. The first one being her father and his mistress,  something which she was certain drove her mother to the grave. 

The sight of saddled horses caused her heart to thrum. She had ridden in the past, or rather the future, but she was not the greatest. Still, Daenerys was confident that she could comfortably keep up with the king unless he decided to charge across the open plains and leave her coughing in the snow and dust...she highly doubted that would happen. Instead of allowing the stable hand to assist her onto the horse, Jon gripped her by the waist and hoisted her onto the mare - she tried not to notice the burn of his touch and the way he looked at her. She almost wanted to tell him to stop looking at her the way he was looking at her because it made her feel things which she most definitely shouldn't. 

She wondered if Daario had gone back to Essos, or if he stayed in the North in search of her. He must have thought that she had run away from him, too discontented in their marriage and cowardly to admit that they are better off apart. 

“You ready?” Jon asked, looking at her directly in the eye, and all she could feel was the intensity of his gaze. No, she was not so air-headed wench who went weak at the knees over a man who was not her husband, she most certainly was not! 

“Yes,” she responded with a curt nod, urging her horse into a gallop.  The wind ripped through the ends of her hair, which she had left unbound. It was customary for Northern ladies to braid their hair, for practicality and femininity, and while she had two braids on either side of her head, the length of her hair stretched down the slender expanse of her back. It had grown long, and then longer still without her regular trim. 

He looked so powerful atop the horse as they cut across the land, his hands clenched around the thick leather reins as he sat strong and proud on his charger. “Who taught you to ride?” he asks her, almost shouting through the wind so that she can hear. 

“My brother,” she responds, recalling the encouragement from Vis that she staunch her fear and sit atop the horse. She heard stories of her mother being injured and losing her first child, a boy a horse was spooked. Aerys made sure that her mother never saw that horse again. 

“Ah yes, Lord Monford?” Jon enquired, snapping Dany out of her thoughts. “What was your husband like? It must take a lot for a noblewoman to be swayed by a fisherman. I say that with the kindest regards, but I know the pressures of a family to conform - they would have seen me wed years ago.”  Ah yes, an unwed king did not exactly strike stability into the hearts of the people. They wanted heirs and spares so that the dynasty was settled. 

“He was charming and I was captivated by his stories. They were angling for me to marry another, by Daario had so many stories to tell me and he swore that he would do anything for me. That level of devotion is hard to ignore,” she responded, not at all lying. “It is saddening to know that I will never see him again. Beyond anything else, he was first and foremost my friend.”

She watched Jon shift and then nod respectfully. 

“Pardon my boldness, but why have you not yet married?” she enquired, regretting it almost immediately from the way that he flinched. He owed her nothing, but she could not deny her interest regarding that particular subject. 

“I do not remember my parents, they died when I was a very small child and my sister was an infant. But what I do know is that my father agreed to marry Lady Catelyn, but his head was turned by mother. To break with his honour and dismiss an agreement made before the old gods, he must have loved my mother very much. And now I see the way that Lady Catelyn looks at me, the King in the North, a title that in essence should have belonged to her firstborn son, she loathes me and while I do not like it, I understand to a certain extent why. I am the product of my father’s betrayal. She has more love for Serena since she cared for her as her own, but for me, there is little love or loyalty,” he shared, bringing his horse to a canter as they grew into a deeper conversation. “I do not wish to other my hand without knowing the full consequence of it, for I wish to keep my honour intact. When I marry, it will be because it is right for me and for the kingdom.” 

She wondered if he had known the company of a woman, or if that too would stain his honour. 

“I told myself for a long time that there was no time for romance or love. The mad-queen is desperate to see the Northerners burn after all that has happened. I know what your family is loyal to the crown, but it has been too long since a noble king sat on the Iron Throne.” 

During a rebellion hosted by the Peake’s which quickly gained momentum with the support of House Blackfyre and House Baratheon ( who had been offended by the slight of Prince Duncan against Lord Lyonel’s daughter ), the Targaryen king, Maekar the Anvil, was slain in battle and the remaining Targaryens were pushed out by the forces which surrounded them. For many years after war ravaged the land, the three houses which had unified against the crown all fought against one another for power. The Peakes were disposed of quickly, but it was the Baratheons and Blackfyres who proved themselves worthy opponents. Eventually, after many years of bloodshed, the Baratheons’ claimed power over the land. All the way up to Robert Baratheon, his uncle’s closest friend. 

“Queen Cersei is a rabid cur,” she responded bitterly, recalling the nefarious reputation which the mad queen gained in a short period of time. Her bastard son had a nefarious reputation, but she was far more sinister and clever than he ever was. 

Jon grunted in agreement and spurred on his horse.

They rode in a comfortable silence after that. 

It was something else to write in her diary. She missed the thrill of writing and longed to feel the snap of the keys on her typewriter as she crafted her next novel. If she ever got back to the present, she would certainly write of her time in the past and all that she had learned. But, somehow, she knew that she would never leave. At night she would dream of the castle around her, as she saw the seasons change and herself grow old, a flurry of long-awaited children rushing past her feet as she leaned into the warm embrace of a man she loved. It felt all too real, as though her dreams had power. But she knew it was just wishful thinking, Winterfell would fade and so too would the people.

When the peaks of Wintertown could be seen over the boggy grass, Daenerys smiled. She longed to walk among the people, to understand how their lives differed from modern society. She understood the workings of Winterfell, but she had not left the grounds for any place other than the surrounding grasslands. Some of the Northerners still had their doubts about her and Jon was uncomfortable with her leaving without him - and being a king took up a great deal of his time. Especially, with the threat of Cersei looming. 

Her fingers tightened on the reigns as they drew nearer to the town, her peculiar looks gaining a little more attention. Even Jon, the king, did not get as many stares as she did. But he did look rather unassuming, and they were likely used to his presence. But she was a foreigner, it was evident to anyone who met her. 

She was helped down from her horse, who was lead toward a barrel of water. 

All around her, houses in rows puffed out smoke from short chimneys, while children ran through the streets giggling and tumbling in the mud - she imagined that their mothers would be furious. 

She felt a tug on her elbow, and she followed the touch with her vision to see Jon motioning for her to follow him in a different direction. The reason for their visit had not been explained, but she was curious about the town and so she had not questioned too much - he might have decided against her joining him. 

“I have some business to discuss with the local men,” Jon began, his fingers pressing against her back to guide her forwards. “There are some markets that you might enjoy. A little further down there is a tavern, I would argue against going in for you would attract too much attention. I shall not be long, and then I will join you.” 

Daenerys nodded at him, but as he left her side she suddenly felt alone and vulnerable. She rolled her eyes at herself, and walked forward, brushing past everybody else. Even as mud splashed the bottoms of her skirts, and she felt the gaze of the common-folk burning into her, some more leary than others, Dany did not lower her gaze.  _ Show no fear. _ But she did wish that Serena might have joined them, Daenerys guessed that the princess would have put anyone in their place. 

“Come and look at these fine pieces,” one vendor shouted to her, catching her attention. Daenerys brushed past the flapping cloaks of others and smiled at the old-faced man, whose calloused hands reached out to touch her own. She went to snatch her hands away, but the grip on her fingers grew tight. “Such pretty hands you have. We have so many lovely rings for you to try.” He offered her a toothy smile and it made her grimace. Most of the jewels were poorly made and priced highly, but there were a few which caught her eye. If the man were not so insistent, she might have been lured in by one. She felt her own ring being loosened by the man. 

“Begging your pardon,” she interrupted abruptly, snatching away her hand. “I ask you to not touch what is not yours.” 

Daenerys did not linger around the stall after that, but she was left feeling unsettled. She had learned from her short time in the past that danger lurked around every corner, and she did herself no favours for spending time with the most wanted man in Westeros. 

She passed a few coins into the hands of a baker, who presented her with a steaming hot pie. Jon had given her a purse, in case she wished to purchase something. It felt strange to be in his charity, but he never made her feel guilty about it. He had been too good to her, that she was certain of.

The sound of childish laugher lured her in, and she found herself following the noise. 

A building more reminiscent of a thatched barn looked aged and worn, the roof had an obscene hole that no doubt made the premise draughty and damp. Daenerys felt for the poor souls that resided in the property. Her fingers gripped the worn wood of the door, paint flaking off against her fingertips as she peeked her head of platinum around the corner. The sight made her stomach drop, her azure eyes drifted over the sight of small bodies clustered around one another giggling and sniffling. Dozens of children sat on rags, and as she glanced up, she could see that thin sheets had been used to try and cover the hole in the roof - it did very little to help. 

As she stepped forward, Daenerys was intercepted by a woman who had many wrinkles to show her age - but was not so old to be classed as elderly She smiled at the auburn-haired woman, her fingers twitching at her side out of discomfort. Perhaps, she should not have indulged her curiosity. “ I apologise for the intrusion. I heard the children laughing and I was too curious for my own good,” Dany admitted, offering a short, half-smile that showed a glimmer of unease without making her look meek. 

“There is no need to apologise, milady. We aren’t used to having guests, you see,” the woman responded, moving aside to allow Daenerys to come further into what she had soon realised was an orphanage. 

“Does this orphanage have a patron?” she enquired, unable to help the flit of her eyes at she looked back up at the damaged roof. 

“Not in a long while.” 

“Hmm, well I think that ought to be changed,” she muttered to herself, walking forward towards the group of children. They looked back at her with curiosity, their bright innocent eyes watching her - unblinking. “May I?” she asked, motioning to a pile of rags that had been puffed up on the floor to form something of a makeshift cushion. Daenerys was not in the least bit concerned about the fact that her dress would be muddied, and that the rags smelled atrocious. 

With the agreement of the children, Daenerys sat down. Some inched closer to her, mainly the young girls who looked a little entranced, while some hung back with shyness. “I’m Daenerys,” she announced, introducing herself to the group. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to achieve by sitting with them, but she supposed that she merely wanted to spend time with them, to understand them a little more. 

“Have you come to tell us a story?” one girl asked, she looked a little older than some of the children. Daenerys would have guessed around 9 or 10. “Whenever we have a nice visitor, they tell us a story.” 

“Is that what you want me to do?” Just because that’s what the visitors did when they came, didn’t mean that the children actually liked it. But her question was rather futile since all looked eager and shuffled forward at the prospect. 

“Okay,” she began, mind tracing back to her own childhood when she would curl up into the comfort of her bed, while her mother would sit beside her uttering stories and stroking the strands of her hair. Dany had always loved that. 

“Across the ocean, a long time ago, a magnificent kingdom was home to many creatures. While you would find people walking the streets, overhead dragons would soar through the skies. The people did not fear them, instead, they loved them. Back then dragon and man were friends, and their bond was unbreakable. A dragon was not a pet or a slave, but they were always fiercely loyal to her companions. There was a young girl with violet eyes and hair like spun silver, who dreamed of having her own dragon friend…” 

“Was she a princess?” one of the children shouted, causing Daenerys to smile. 

She nodded softly before continuing, “Yes, she was a princess. Her father, the king, was fierce while her mother was soft and gentle. The benevolent queen they called her. All of her family had dragons, all except the young princess. Having a dragon was not as easy as going out to buy one, hoping that it’ll hatch. You had to earn the right to have a dragon egg, and they always chose their rider.” One of the toddlers climbed into her lap, and she pressed a kiss to the raven hair. She looked up to see Jon leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he urged in his thick Northern accent. 

They spent hours in the orphanage telling stories to the children, and as they left Dany felt the need to bring up her thoughts and feelings. “They don’t have a patron,” she commented, as they walked towards the stables. It was eating her up knowing how they lived in such poor conditions, and those who cared for them didn’t have the funds to complete the work needed to keep them warm and dry. “Why not?” she asked, giving him a stern look. 

Jon dipped his head guiltily. For a king, he did brood a lot. “A charge regrettably given to my aunt, who has clearly used the funds for other causes she deems to be more appropriate. Perhaps, I ought to give you that responsibility.”  She stopped in her tracks at his words, fingers clenched at her sides. Damn this man! Why did he trust her? He was too trusting, that trust would one day get him killed, that she was certain of. 

When Jon noticed that she’d stopped, he turned to look directly at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked her, and it was her turn to look guilty. 

“You have too much faith in me, Jon. We have only known one another a month and I am not from the North, you ought to be more suspicious of outsiders in your land.” When she raised her head, Daenerys realised just how close he’d gotten to her. She could practically feel his breath on her face.

“Aye, I ought to. But you’ve never given me reason not to trust you,” he murmured, catching her hand with his own. Her heart slammed against her chest, the way he looked into her eyes made her feel things she shouldn’t. Seven hells, she was truly playing with fire! 

“Jon.” It was a weak whisper that slipped past her lips. Her breath was caught in the back of her throat, while her body trembled, her fingers shaking in his grip - she knew he could feel like. “Dany,” she heard him whisper back before she felt his lips pressed against her own. If she had any sense she would have pulled away, reminded herself of all the reasons why falling him was dangerous, but stood with no one but Jon in the stables, his body pressed to her own all she could think of was him. Her thoughts were fuzzy, mussed by the desire for him. 

She gripped his shoulders, holding him against her. Daenerys would have that moment, even if it was just for a moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, angels. The next chapter will be up in a few days and the drama is coming. Here's a teeny tiny sneak peak from the next chapter:
> 
> "They're in an uproar over this, Jon. The Lords will not be convinced! Not this time."


	6. A Storm is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continued support of this story. Every review inspires me and it’s interesting to hear your theories and thoughts on what is going to happen in the future, so keep them coming!   
> This wasn't my favourite chapter, but it was important for moving the story along.  
> Also, I’ve switched the rating because I thought it was already on explicit. Tags will be updated accordingly.

Surprisingly, Daenerys was calm on the ride back to Winterfell. Kissing Jon had felt like the most sane thing that she’d done since arriving in the year 303. There were too many things which battled against her, mostly the fear that she should not grow to care for the people around her because she would inevitably lose them. But she refused to sully the moment with him by worrying about what she could not control. Her cheeks grew hot from the memory of his lips on her own, and the way his strong hands had pressed against her back, locking her in place. 

He was a wolf and she was his prey. 

“What are you thinking about?” he questioned in the wind, and Daenerys was certain that a small smile hid behind his beard. It was a thought that warmed her in the Winter air, Jon smiling just for her. 

“Nothing, your grace,” Daenerys responded in a confident tone, despite the inner coyness which she felt.

“There’s a storm coming,” Jon announced, and Daenerys followed his line of vision to look up at the billowing clouds. Heavy and dark, it was as if any light had been drained from them. It would certainly put a damper on things. “We should be back in Winterfell before it hits.” She hoped he was right. The horse she’d been riding was rather mild-mannered, in comparison to the strong, stubborn stallions that her parents reared, but she doubted the mare would be so connected with thunder cracking through the skies. Instinctively, her gloved fingers gripped the reins a little tighter. 

It was after dusk when they arrived back in Winterfell, and the darkened clouds were almost over her head. The downpour of heavy rain would soon arrive with thunderous roars of the Northerly wind. She liked to sit beside the fire and write in her diary when such an occurrence arose. It wasn’t the same as writing a novel, but it still kept her intelligent mind alight with ideas.

As she walked through the familiar corridors, the lords that once nodded their heads at her looked at her with a strange look in their eye, as though they had grown to dislike her. She hoped her mind was just playing tricks on her and the lost day had simply made her weary. 

Daenerys pushed open her chamber door and gasped. Chairs were turned up, papers were strewn from the desk and her sheets and furs were near enough ripped from the bed. “What in the seven?” she gasped, and took a tentative step forward. The warm familiar place had been sullied, and Daenerys forced herself to acknowledge that if felt like someone had disrupted her home. A strange feeling. 

When had she stopped referring to her house in Essos with Daario as home? Her marriage was stagnant, but the property had been in her family for generations and she’d always adored it there, especially with the abundance of lemon trees which surrounded the extensive grounds. That scarlet door always signaled home! So she found it strange that sadness did not wash over her at the prospect of never seeing it again. 

Footsteps echoed behind her, and she turned to see both Jon and Serena rushing towards her. It was not good. Whatever was happening was definitely not good! 

“Somebody has ransacked by chambers,” Daenerys declared, looking at the two wolves. Serena looked apologetic and Jon looked annoyed. An interesting combination. The younger female stepped forward and cleared her throat, causing both Jon and Daenerys to look directly at her. 

“There was rather a big commotion after you left. Lady Catelyn started to enquire about our new guest and it spiraled out of control. She riled everybody up, said that you were a spy of Queen Cersei and not to be trusted. Apparently, the Velaryons have always been loyal to the Southern crown.” Daenerys scoffed at that, crossing her arms definitely over her chest. 

“When a Targaryen sat on the throne,” she muttered, glancing down at the stone floor. 

“Lady Catelyn suggested that your chambers be searched for evidence. Sansa and I tried to stop it, but she was most insistent.” 

That explained the mess in her room, but what did they hope to find? “They found your journal, Daenerys. Your account of your time in Winterfell is not being treated as your mere nightly musings, but instead as a record of the inner workings.” 

She felt a ball in the bit of her stomach, and her mouth opened but no noise came out. Jon looked her and then back at Serena.

“A journal proves nothing. What is Catelyn up to?” 

"They're in an uproar over this, Jon. The Lords will not be convinced! Not this time,” Serena stressed, an urgent look painted across her expressional eyes. Daenerys was a fool. She was a fool to believe that she could walk around the halls of Winterfell and no one would grow suspicious of her. Even as the king’s guest, she was not safe from the speculation and judgment and the Lady Catelyn had fueled it.  

In her absence, short as it was, the bitter lady had her room searched and the fraction of Dany’s sanity was exposed to others. She felt naked, judged and fearful of her life. Arya had saved her once before, but she doubted that the young woman would stand up to her mother. There was little justification for a defense. 

She turned to look at Jon, unable to speak. Their lovely day had been spoiled, so much so that it was hard to recall what had made her smile earlier that day. But one thing was for certain, Lady Catelyn had made herself an enemy. 

“We must resolve this now,” Jon announced, motioning for the two women to follow. Along the way he encountered Maester Tarly and asked him to aid in rounding up all the Lords who were still in the castle grounds. The recent birthday of young Rickon had meant that they had many visitors in Winterfell who did not eagerly leave. Most had daughters who were of marrying age, and they had not given up hope that Jon might pick one of them. It made Daenerys feel strange to think of him with another woman. She blamed that feeling on the kiss they’d shared earlier, but she knew it was something rooted much deeper. It was near impossible for her to think of a kiss so enticing as the one she shared with Jon. Daario compared in comparison. They had been friends for a long time before they married, it seemed like a natural step for them to take. But she still saw him more like her friend. 

She felt a squeeze on her arm, it was from Serena who was clearly trying to give her some reassurance. Dany felt very little of it. The fragile bonds which she had made with the Lords had been easily splintered by the word of one woman, so she doubted anything could persuade them. The houses were as stubborn as they were old. 

The main hall was chilly, as though the heat from the springs had been sucked away and every fire in the castle had been blown out. Even Serena shuddered beside her from the cold, a woman whose very bones had been shaped by the Northern winters. Some of the Lords were already waiting, sat in lines on long, sturdy benches with matching expressions. None smiled warmly at her. 

She took her place beside Jon, refusing to acknowledge the Tully woman who sat close by. Jealousy often manifested itself around people of power, and money, position, and love fuelled it all. Catelyn Tully had been offered a position in the King’s household and instead of making charitable donations in his name and funding causes worthy of the support of the crown, it seemed as though she wanted the people to think he was a neglectful king...for who was next in line? None other than young Rickon Stark, who was still young enough to be manipulated by his mother. Not that her hopes would ever come to pass, her only surviving child after the devastation of Winterfell is Arya Stark. 

Daenerys Targaryen was scared of looking Catelyn Tully in the eye because she was scared of uncovering something she didn’t wish to see. 

Impatience grew among the Lords as they waited for other houses to arrive. Her stomach was in knots and she felt as though her bodice grew tighter with every breath. 

Then finally, after what was certainly a very long time, Lord Bolton entered the room, the flayed man sigil imprinted onto the leather straps which wrapped over his chest, holding up the thick fur cloak. 

“My Lords,” Jon addressed the room, standing up to take a sweeping glance. “It has come to my attention that there have been some rumours regarding Lady Daenerys’ purpose and intent here.” 

“Aye, we know she’s been writing about her time here. Spying on us so that she can feed it back to that bitch Queen Cersei.” 

Daenerys rolled her eyes at the weak accusation. It was thought they had nothing better to do other than speculate and make stupid decisions.

“And the written pages you speak of, where are they?” Jon asked, knowing full well that Daenerys chambers had been trashed in search of any damning evidence they could find.

With an unreadable expression, although Daenerys wagered that she was smirking beneath her skin, Lady Catelyn produced a leather-bound book. The long think strap was unwound from the book, and the ink-laden parchment was revealed. 

Catelyn cleared her throat and pawed through the pages, turning them over to find a paragraph to read  _ “Winterfell is not at all what I was expecting. I might have been able to flee home if not for that stupid bloody bastard! I do not known what turns my stomach more, the thought of him or the fact that I wished I could have killed him.”  _

She knew that Catelyn had tried to make it sound as though she was speaking of Jon, and not Lord Manderly’s squire who had been butchered by Arya, following his attempted attack. 

“For the Seven! You are mistaken with your insinuation, Lady Catelyn. I’m sure you recall the attack upon my person by your squire, Lord Manderly,” Daenerys asked him directly, looking at him with eyes of freshly sharpened knives. Lord Manderly grew redder in the face and huffed, clearly annoyed that she’d dared to bring it up. 

“It still does not prove you’re not a spy,” one of the lords in the back shouted, causing a series of ayes to echo around the frosty room. 

“And this spy,” Lord Forrester spat, his severe gaze looking Daenerys up and down, “What are we to do with her?.”

A chill slithered down the length of her spine, it started at the nape of her neck and slipped until she could feel it in her feet. Daenerys felt as though she were on trial, and she doubted that even kind-hearted, noble Jon could save her from his own Lords. 

“Are we to condemn every Southerner who wanders beyond the neck?” Jon argued, his hand curled up into a ball in front of him. His entire stature was tensed, and she could almost see the conflict in his smokey eyes. 

“She is not of the North. How can we trust her not to run back to her family in the South?” Lord Karstark bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at her. Daenerys did not mind him, but she had a less favourable opinion of his uncle. Betrayal against the North would come from all sides, even those claiming to be a part of it. When the Boltons came for Winterfell, the control of the Castle granted by Serena’s marriage to Domeric, it would be the final blow against the Starks. She read that Domeric was not a terrible person, but he was eager to please his slimy father. She needed to find a way to keep a close eye on the Boltons and Karstarks. 

“Then we must make her a woman of the North,” Jon announced with an assertive tone, but it could not prevent the eruption of loud chatter. Daenerys was rendered speechless. Whatever was Jon suggesting? Surely, he didn’t mean to marry her off. “Then there can be no mistake of her loyalty.” 

“No respectable Northerner would ever marry that woman!” Lord Manderly bellowed, pointing a plump finger at her.  Dany refused to flinch, not when they started to throw insults at her, these fickle, stupid, stubborn Lords with their accusations and threats. She wouldn’t want to marry any of them anyway, not forgetting that she was technically still married to Daario...even if he is not yet born.

“I promised Lady Daenerys sanctuary and that is what she will get. Has she not shown you the kindness and respect which I expect from all of you?”

“With respect my lords, I am not of the North and you have grown to trust me. Our King speaks wisdom and if I am mistaken in my judgement of the lady, I would like to know” Catelyn proclaimed, mentioning nothing of beloved Queen Ashara of Starfall, Dany noted bitterly. “I shall have the Lady Daenerys travel with me and Lady Sansa to the Neck, we will get the measure of her and give our verdict upon our return.” The fish had sharp teeth, there was no denying that and she certainly did not trust her. “

Jon looked as though he wished to object, but some of the Lords had begun to nod. Suspicion flooded Daenerys once again, and she wondered just what in the Seven, the silver trout was planning. 

"And what of my opinion? I would ask you to hear my side of the story before you make a final judgment." She refused to be shoved into the back of the room, belittled in front of the lords merely because she was the fairer sex, a woman to simply be to told what to do. 

"We don't wanna hear what you have to say, lassy. We ain't gonna believe you," Lord Forrester responded before belching, which made her cringe out of disgust.

"We'll see."


	7. The Trout with Sharp Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is coming out a little sooner than I initially anticipated. But the muse that I feel for this story and the excitement of that 5-second clip of Daenerys arriving in Winterfell, really did push me through this chapter. Seeing Dany in Winterfell is an aesthetic and I’m living for it. I think that red necktie will be mentioned at some point in this fic.

**** Long after the Lords had departed from the main hall, Daenerys stayed in the same chair where she had been forced to endure the arguments and ideas over what her future entailed. It was as though they had found some sport in deciding whether she should live or die, live in the North or be thrown out into the cold. Rationally, she knew that Jon had been trying to protect her when he suggested that she marry a Northerner, but that didn’t make her any less angry with him. He had tried to control her life, just like everybody else, and she didn’t want that from him. But then, she did often forget that he was a king, who took the opinions of his Lord’s seriously. He seriously needed to pull rank on them and tell them all to behave. The Lords in the North acted no better than spoiled children and it was going to get them all killed. Cersei Lannister was a smart woman, Roose Bolton was a smart man, and slowly in the darkness, sharp knives would appear. 

She picked mindlessly at a tiny splinter on the table, angry tears running down her face. They had taken her diary, a symbol of her sanity and self, and exposed her inner thoughts and fears. An acrid taste filled her mouth, and it burned to keep her eyes open as more tears came. Angrily, Daenerys wiped them away. She would not cry for them. 

“You’re still in here…” It was a statement not a question, but the voice was gentle despite the roughness of the Northern twang. Jon had shed his fur cloak and walked towards her in his dark leathers. Dany didn’t acknowledge him, in fact, she had a good mind to leave the room the moment he walked in. Damned fool. 

“Talk to me,” he asked rather than ordered, she noted. 

“What do you wish for me to say, your grace? Your men may be stubborn and childish, but they have the sense not to trust me. But you, you offer me a sanctuary and then you say that I should be married off to one of them. I am not a shiny prize to be sold, Jon, I do have my own opinions. Do you think I could marry again, do you think I could bear to lie with another man when...seven bloody buggering hells?!” she sighed proclaimed, noticing the way Jon cringed from her curse words. A lady of her gentle breeding ought not to speak so crudely, but she was born centuries later when it was a far more common thing.  “You kissed me, Jon, and then you suggested that I marry one of those ridiculous oafs!” 

“Dammit woman, I’m trying to keep you safe,” he retorted, raising his hands up in the air. “I meant that I could keep you safe, that I would marry you,” Jon proclaimed, and her heart surely stopped beating.

She swallowed trying to find her words, but she couldn’t shake the inner conflict which she felt. “I thought you said you would never marry anyone unless it was right for you and the kingdom that your honour wouldn’t allow it.”

“Aye, and that remains true. Your concern over the orphanage is exactly what the North needs.” She felt him press his lips against her own once again, the kiss more urgent than the last time. “If anyone can change the minds of a few stubborn Lords, it’s you, Daenerys Velaryon.” That foreign name on his tongue reminded her of the lies she’d already told him, of the deceit. 

“How many years have you told your Lords that you will not marry? I have a barely been here a month, they will say that I bewitched you,” she responded, feeling all too cold all of a sudden. Jon Stark never marries, he dies on the battlefield outside the very gates of Winterfell and Lord Bolton has his body paraded around for all to see. But there is no Queen, no male heir, just a poor Stark girl who marries a rich Bolton.

If Jon married her, surely that meant that she could change history, that she could save him. Daenerys felt a rush inside of her, pure joy that she could not contain, She threw her arms around his neck, cushioning her head in the crook. His arms wrapped around her slender body and she realised how right it felt. “I must prove to Lady Catelyn and Lady Sansa that I am worthy of the North’s trust.” Jon pulled a fraction away from her, cushioning her face between his hands as grey met blue. 

“They’ll come to see you for what you are.., my queen,” he whispered, kissing her once again. They stayed like that, holding one another in the empty hall, the promise of a future together making them both smile.

“Lady Catelyn…” Daenerys began, noticing the way Jon immediately tensed at the name. “I trust her far less than I did before. I wonder how she will test my loyalty to the North.” 

“I do not eagerly send you with her.”  

“You have known her your whole life. If you trust her so little, why do you continue to allow her to stay here? Surely, she would be better off returning to Riverrun.” It was merely a suggestion, but she could not believe that Jon had not considered it in his life. The topic did seem to make him uncomfortable. 

“My mother died when I was young, and I have no memory of her. The statue of her in the crypt does not do her justice, that is what my Uncle Ned used to say. My father was murdered for chasing after his beloved sister, who the king was infatuated with and so I was left in the care of Lady Catelyn. That woman who could not look at me without seeing my mother. I cannot blame her resentment, she was supposed to have a prince for a son and a king for her husband,” he began, moving away from her to take a seat once more. “I cannot on my honour dismiss her from the house since my father already took the life she was supposed to have.”

“You should not have to endure her venom because your father fell in love,” she reasoned, brushing hand down the side of his face. 

“Aye, but I choose to. When you return from Riverrun and you have proven yourself to everyone, we will marry,” he promised her, which forced her to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, will we? You haven't even asked me properly, Jon Stark!” Daenerys reprimanded with a smile, her hand heavy from the weight of her wedding ring. Poor Daario. She hoped that he found happiness, that he eventually forgot about her. Surely he would move on from that hollow love and find something that set his heart alight, an all-consuming fire and need to be with that person. 

The embers of a love like that sparked the moment that she met Jon, and it was a fire that was cared for in its early stages to ensure that it grew, but eventually became wild and unrelenting. Dany had denied herself, refused to acknowledge the growing feelings which she held, but his kiss proved that he felt as she did and there was no use in hiding it. 

“Something for you to look forward to, my lady,” he responded suavely, with a silkness that she did not often associate with the Northern King who was a little more rough around the edges.

“You’re a fool, Jon. We have not known one another long enough, you may not like me after another month,” she cautioned, licking her bottom lip. She had known Daario since they were children and they were best friends, then they were lovers and then they were married. But it was the love that never truly started and that spanned years. 

“No one else has ever called me a fool as much as you and I will leave poetry to the professionals, but I know that from the moment I found you in the woods that you were going to ensnare me.” 

“You might change your mind in my absence.”  It was a tease, but it was rooted with a fear. The prospect of marriage to Jon did not only warm her heart, it gave her hope that all was not lost. Jon will live, he has to. If she could only discover the source of the betrayal, she could unravel the plot before Queen Cersei’s plans were made clear and it was too late to do anything. More than one life could be spared.

“All the snow in the far North would have to melt first,” he responded, pecking her on the lips. Jon then moved away, motioning for her to follow. “The hour grows late and we ought to retire... I’ll walk you to your chambers.” 

Daenerys nodded and they began to walk from the main hall, the corridors all but abandoned aside from a few stationed guards that protected the higher nobility. 

“Does it not bother you that I have lain with another man?” she asked suddenly, the thought gnawing at her. Daenerys knew that she should feel guilty for entertaining the thought of marriage, but she could not bring herself to sully the blossoming love that she felt for Jon. 

“No, it doesn’t. Just so long as you don’t mind that I have too. We had known each other a long while, she was from the far north, she was killed not long after. She had the fire in her hair, spoke like a sailor and was certainly not a lady, but a good friend.” 

“What if I cannot give you children? Oh, Jon, you really have not thought this through,” she stressed, turning to face him, her hand reaching out to push at his chest. 

He clutched her petite hand within his own, pulling it closer to her chest so that she stumbled forward a slight step. “What makes you think that?” he voiced his tone tender. 

“I was married before and well...we tried.” 

Jon let out a sigh, his grip on her fingers soothing as her heart slammed into her chest restlessly. 

“I think until you and I have tried there is no point in fretting. I have a large family and there will always be a Stark in Winterfell. You can come up with a million reasons why I should change my mind, but it will not dissuade me. One day very soon you’re going to be stuck with me, and you’ll make the most beautiful queen. The people need you, they need your kindness.”

They stopped outside her chambers and it felt strange. Jon often walked her to her lodgings if the hour grew late, but they had never admitted the depth of their feelings before. She didn’t know how to bid him a good night. Jon went to politely kiss the side of her cheek, but she moved her head so that his lips met her own. Her hands clutched the front of his leather jerkin, while his hands wound her back staking them claim against her body. It was quick but forceful, and when they parted Daenerys was red-faced and panting. “Goodnight,” she whispered, slipping inside her chambers. 

The moment the door shut she pressed herself against the wood, almost in a daze. “Are you okay, milady?” sweet, naive Walda asked, tugging Daenerys from her thoughts. She looked up to see that her chambers had been put back in place, the previous mess all but a bad memory. 

When morning came, Daenerys could hardly believe that events which had transpired the day before. It was incredible and she desired nothing more than to write it all down, the high’s and the low’s, it was the kind of thing that would turn into a bestseller if she was back in her own time. But she did not dare to write down the intimate details of her growing relationship with Jon and the promise of marriage, in case anyone was to discover those pages. It would have to be a story which she stayed in her mind, at least until the people started to believe her. If only they knew just how much she wanted to save them, even that foolish Lord Manderly. 

She completed her usual routine with Walda, dressing for the day in the Northern attire. Despite her reluctance to leave Winterfell, she was rather curious to see the fashions of those further south and how they differed. “Lady Catelyn wishes for you to join her in her chamber for breakfast, you are to discuss travel plans. I believe Lady Sansa will be joining you,” Walda advised, forcing a knot into her stomach that pained her. She’d have to make sure the bitch did not attempt to poison her.

“Very well,” she responded, trying not to sound too reluctant. Catelyn Tully had decidedly made an enemy out of her, and yet they had scarcely spoken two words to one another. It was perhaps the fact that she’d shunned the woman’s arrival, instead favouring Serena’s company - but it was not as if there was a hard choice to be made. 

Lady Catelyn was not a stupid woman. But she had made a mistake in making Daenerys her enemy since it was her desire to undo the series of events that would see the house of Stark fall. Somehow, that trout with sharp teeth was involved, Daenerys felt it in her gut. If only she could remember what became of Catelyn Stark in history. She found her to be a rather tiresome woman, and she had not invested too much time in learning about her - a choice which she now regretted. But it would come to her, all those snippets of information that she was trying to piece back together and when Daenerys discovered the truth..,.game over. 

A serving boy announced her arrival as he walked in with a jug of watered wine, and another of goats milk. The fair-haired lady followed slowly behind, a false smile plastered on her plump lips. “Lady Catelyn,” she addressed with a tight tone, moving to sit in one of the vacant chairs. She noted immediately that Lady Sansa was not present. It was not a surprise, Sansa seemed to like her and Lady Catelyn was trying to turn people against her. 

“I invited you to share my table so that we might discuss the travel plans. It will take us a few weeks to get to Riverrun, and we are to stay there for a month. During that time we are to meet with my father and those loyal to him, so we might gain support for the upcoming war. We know that Queen Cersei is rallying and she will strike us hard,” Catelyn announced. Dany wondered what else the woman knew, or if she was mistaken in her assessment of the woman. For Sansa’s sake, Daenerys hoped that she was wrong about Catelyn who was still nasty and a bitter old woman, but she didn’t need to be a traitor to the crown and her husband’s family. 

“If it is a matter of great significance, why is the King not travelling with us?” Daenerys enquired, her fingers plucking a piece of ripened from the battered metal plate. 

Catelyn shot her a look, which quickly folds into a strange smile, “The King entrusted me with this, as I am of House Tully and House Stark, Lady Velaryon.” The ice in her tone and the way she spoke her name was for only one reason only, to remind Daenerys that she was an outsider and had no family. 

“Of course, my lady. The king clearly trusts you…” Daenerys responded sweetly, sipping her watered wine. Catelyn Tully was not stupid enough to poison her, she’d already drawn Jon’s attention by having his guest’s room ransacked. Jon might trust Catelyn, but she sure in seven hells did not. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all for this update, my loves. Thank you for your continued support and I appreciate any feedback because it gives me so much motivation. Next update should be some time next week, unless the GOT trailer is dropped and then I may have another writing spree.


	8. The Wolf's Claim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you keep up to date with tags!

The feather filled pillow that cushioned her head felt rock solid and the thick furs which kept the cold away from her shivering body felt itchy and irritating, despite the blissful nights that she had enjoyed sleeping in that same bad. But she lay there, tossing and turning fitfully, frustrated and far too aware for the late hour. Daenerys sat up and then reached behind her, gripping the ends of the pillow so that she could bring it around to her lap. Her fingers moulded the material, plumping and primping until it looks suitably comfortable, before placing it back in its original position. 

With a huff, Daenerys flung herself back against the pillow. It felt comfortable for around 10 seconds before she once again fell into the pit of restlessness. Twas the night before her journey South and she was naturally nervous. Many things concerned her: travelling South in a foreign time, being in the company of that odious viper Catelyn, leaving Jon. In the days that followed his declaration of marriage, Daenerys had found herself analysing the blooming nature of their relationship and the depth of her feelings. It made her question what she knew of love. It had been the safe option to marry Daario, her parents liked him and she trusted him. But true passion, that was something that she had not known in that marriage. 

How much time passed, Dany didn’t know, but she lay there wide awake for what seemed like forever. The wind was howling outside her window, and yet she felt hot, too hot. She stood up from the bed, grasping the metal jug to pour herself a drink. Despite the many worries in her mind, it was the thought of Jon that kept her awake. And that was the very reason why she felt too hot. Ever since he had kissed her fiercely outside her chambers over a week ago, something had awoken in her and she had felt restless ever since. 

When a knock vibrated against the heavy door, Daenerys spun instantly to face it. She settled the jug back down on the table and moved to open the door. Hope filled her as she thought of who might be stood outside, and it was not misguided when she opened her chamber door to find Jon stood there barefooted, his shirt tucked into his breeches. 

“I wanted to say goodbye before you leave tomorrow. I shall not have enough time tomorrow,” he explained gruffly, with his deep Northern accent. Daenerys nodded and stepped to the side, allowing him to enter her chambers. If she cared about modesty, Dany might have pulled on a robe before she answered the door, but she did not. Then again, she had never seen Jon in such a state of undress. 

“How have you come to say goodbye to me, Jon Stark,” she questioned with an amused tone, motioning to her undressed state. 

“I mean no offence, my lady. I could not sleep and I was not thinking,” he announced brooding, clearly second-guessing his decision to come. Daenerys smiled and gripped his hands, amused by him. “I will be yours, forever. You do not offend me,” she proclaimed, not wishing to waste a single moment that she had with him. 

“Then I will forever live to serve you, my queen,” he responded, stroking her fingers with his thumbs. 

“Claim me,” she asked as she stood in front of him, close enough to breath in the woody smell that accompanied the King in the North. “I am yours now, in three months, forever.” Daenerys did not want to deny her feelings or wait any longer. For well over a month she had been ignoring it, and she had reached her limit. 

Her body was pulled against him and his lips tasted her own. The thin lace lined chemise which hung from her shoulders was pushed off, tumbling into a heap on the floor while Jon’s burning touch continued to slide over her shoulder, his fingers leaving their mark on her soul. He gripped her so that she could not move. Dany was caught in a wolf’s grasp, prey to be devoured with hungriness. The hungry kisses on her lips continued, while the harness in his breeches pressed against her soft flesh. She could not imagine that he slept in anything, no she thought of his pale body lit by the moonlight. He led her back towards the bed, and she herself being pushed back until she was lying naked on top of the mattress. 

She lay there waiting, the cool air on her skin causing her senses to spike as she watched him discard his clothes, She noticed battle scars on his body, they weren’t deep but they were noticeable. He never looked away from her, not even when he pulled down his breeches to exposes the solid expanse of his cock.  

Jon descended on her,  kissing down her body, starting at her lips before making a trail down her neck to her collarbone. His hands claimed her, stroking over the peaks of her breasts, her nipples hardened with desire. She arched into his touch as he paid attention to her nipples, pinching them between his thumb and forefinger until she squirmed. “Do you like that?” he asked, moving his head so that he could flick his tongue over the tip of her nipple, his fingers squeezing the flesh so that he could nip at it. She continued to squirm as her wolf left his mark on her. It did make Dany wonder what other things Jon could do with his mouth. Once they were married, she certainly wanted to find out. 

“I need you to take me,” she gasped when his fingers drifted lover. He looked up at her, those soulful grey eyes taking her in as he climbed back up her body, hoving above her. 

“Are you sure?” he questioned against her lips, his warm breath fanning over her features. His hardness rested against her stomach, his chest crushed to her breasts, while her fingers clung to the muscular ripples of his back. “Yes,” she breathed, and he caught her in a bruising kiss while sinking into her heat, his body claiming hers. Daenerys moaned into the kiss as he filled her up, deliciously stretching her. He stilled for a moment, allowing her to adjust to him. She had not expected him to be big, he was shorter than Daario, and she did not think that it mattered too much. But she was pleasantly surprised. 

“Dany,” he moaned against her lips, as he began to thrust into her, his left hand gripping her bent leg to give him leverage against her. His pelvis ground against her own, while her body rose to meet his efforts. One of her hands hung loosely over his shoulder, while the other slipped down his back to the curve of his arse, applying pressure so that he would thrust harder into her, milking her body with pleasure. 

She pulled away from the kiss to look up at him, the stubborn soul that she so desperately wanted to keep beside her. 

Dany’s legs tightened around his body, and his hand found refuge against the side of her face as he looked deeply into her eyes. She felt vulnerable, fully exposed as he dared to stare deeply into her gaze. There was never any question that she was going to fall in love with him, she knew it almost instantly. A tear escaped her, and she noticed the look of concern cross his features as he wiped it away. 

He stilled inside of her, causing her to quiver with need. “No one’s ever looked at me the way you just did,” she whispered with a teary smile, full of love. Jon’s expression softened and he nodded at her, pressing kisses all over her face until he once again claimed her lips. She felt as though she was going to explode with the emotions that he provoked, the belonging, the pure happiness, and the fear of losing such a precious thing. 

She felt as though she was being pushed towards the brink of euphoria when he once again continued his vigorous efforts to elicit pleasure from her. Her moans grew louder with Jon’s attention on her neck, his hips slapping against her own with a punishing pace. All the sounds of the old castle fell away, it was only them and the sound of their lovemaking, for it could be called nothing else. “Jon,” she moaned as she felt herself beginning to come undone. His pace quickened and she felt her orgasm being pulled from her body with her breath caught in her throat. 

Daenerys rode the waves of pleasure as Jon chased his own release, grunting until he spilt himself inside of her with unsteady thrusts, the two of them relishing the aftershocks of pleasure. Her heart was hammering in her chest when Jon rolled off her to lie sweatily beside her. They lay there silently, but for the first time all night, Daenerys was not troubled by any other thought. The usual fatigue which followed vigorous sexual activities arrived, and she felt Jon’s arms wrap around her to pull her into his warm embrace. It was only when they’d cooled down, that he pulled the thick furs over their tired bodies. 

As she lay there tucked up against Jon’s side, an urgent thought struck her. “Jon,” she murmured, hoping that he was still conscious enough to answer her question. He merely hummed in response, stroking the long strands of her hair. She had kept it fashionably long for the modern times, but since her arrival in Winterfell it had grown longer like a moonlit river - she rather liked it, especially with Jon’s hands nestled in it. “Why did Lady Catelyn accompany Serena to the Dreadfort?” The more she thought on it, the more peculiar it seemed. Daenerys knew that the Bolton’s were key players in the downfall of the Stark family, that bitch Queen Cersei promised his family the Wardenship of the North and a betrothal between Domeric and Serena. 

“Serena could not travel alone. Initially, I was to travel there, but there was a group of deserters from the wall that had to be dealt with. Catelyn offered to go in my stead. Why do you ask?” The scepticism in his voice was obvious, but she merely nestled herself closer to him and brushed her hand over his chest so she could hug his body. “I’m just trying to understand the woman that I am going to spend the next three months with.”

Jon accepted that answer and kissed on top of the head. “Three months and you’ll be my Queen,” he whispered against her head, his hands roaming the sides of her, his touch soothing against her tired bones. His touch grew lighter as he drifted off to sleep, but Daenerys lay there for a while with her mind trying to piece together the confusing puzzle. There was a connection between Catelyn and the Bolton’s, something not written in the history books and that was the missing piece she needed to work out how to finish the war before it even begins. Without the aid of the Bolton’s, Cersei had no chance of claiming the North, it was too wild and vast, her armies would wither away with the Winter. 

Daenerys fell asleep comfortable with the knowledge that if you took down Catelyn, she could save the people that she cared about and the man that she loved.

When she felt Jon slip from beneath the furs, Daenerys awoke suddenly. 

He chuckled at her, cupped the side of her face and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips, “The servants will soon be waking up, and I must leave before they find me in here.” Womanly chasteness was always a necessity, if not to be branded as a whore, even if she had been married before. The Northern Lords would certainly say that seduced the King with her wicked ways if he was found in her bed. 

“Very well,” she murmured, rolling over to wrap her arm around the plump pillow, her head nestling into the white fabric. As she drifted back off to sleep, Daenerys watched Jon’s blurry figure exit her chambers. She supposed that when she returned to Winterfell, she would take up residence in the Queen’s chambers, which were linked to the King’s own with a connecting door, or so she had read once. It was strange to her that most married couples slept apart, but she supposed that it was because most marriages were arranged. 

She was awoken once more by the sound of Walda sauntering into the room, her arms laden with cleaned linens for her to wear. Daenerys had already packed an assortment of gowns, some more fitting for the gentler climate of the Riverlands while others would keep her warm on the journey there. 

When Daenerys stood, unashamed of her nakedness, she saw Walda blink at her with minor shock. The lady had seen her naked body before, it was of little consequence, but Daenerys usually slept in a nightgown. “I was a little warm under the furs last night,” Daenerys explained as the Walda began to fill the metal bath full of boiling water, knowing that her lady did not mind the harsh temperature of the water. She had heard from Sansa that there was a cave where you could enter the hot springs which warmed the castle. Unfortunately, she had not yet found the time to visit the spot. 

She glanced into the mirror and saw that her porcelain skin was bruised from Jon’s bites, and the grip of his fingers as he claimed her body. Dany turned to Walda, how held up a hand to her mistress. “You need not question my loyalty to ye. I will not say a word, but we will need to tie something around your neck,” the fox-faced woman smiled, as she reached into the trunk that was situated at the end of Dany’s mussed bed. From it, she pulled out a crimson scarf and held it up to Dany, who examined the soft material. “It will go nicely with the white furs,” Daenerys decided, hoping that her neck attire was not too obvious. 

When she stood in the courtyard, Daenerys had to stifle the string of yawns that threatened to pass through her mouth. With such a  long journey ahead, she knew it was foolish to have squandered her last night of comfort before she was confined to a wheelhouse for a month. They would stop off at inns or make camp along the way, but she would long for the comfort of her bed in Winterfell and Jon’s warm embrace. 

All of Winterfell were there to bid the ladies farewell for a couple of months, as they travelled on the King’s business to the Riverlands. Naturally, the Northern Lords that had not yet returned to their own keeps looked at her with suspicion, the pig-headed idiots! 

Serena embraced her warmly, much to her own delight. The two had started to get to know one another, and she had found that despite growing up in the North, she was savvier than most of the men around her - not that that was particularly hard. But Serena was not a noble fool, not like her older brother anyway. "I look forward to your return," she smiled, as they parted from the hug. Next came young Rickon, who looked like he was desperate to continue his archery lesson from the way he kept twitching. Daenerys patted him on the shoulder and moved over to Arya, who she did not have many dealings with. She was thankful that the young girl had saved her from the wretched man, but Arya seemed to keep to herself a lot of the time. 

By the time she reached Jon, a pit had grown in her stomach, a ball of ice that she could not shift. She did not wish to leave Winterfell, she longed to stay with Jon and learn more about the Northern customs. But in order to secure their future, she needed to catch Catelyn out.

"Lady Daenerys," he addressed her politely, collecting her hand so that he could press a customary kiss against her gloved fingers. "We wish you safe travels on your journey." There were too many people around for him to be anything other than formal with her, but she felt the way he clutched her hand and most of all, the intensity of his gaze never faltered. "Forever," he mouthed to her, and she nodded in response. 

Daenerys had to tear herself away from him. She made her way over to the wheelhouse without looking back, if she did then she would not be able to leave...she would be lost. It was all their sakes that she left with Catelyn and Sansa, and then when she returned she would be Queen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the support! Leave a review, kudos, favourite, subscribe, all that good stuff, if you liked the latest instalment. I haven't written smut in about 2 years, so this was a bit cringey for me. But there will be more in the future, so long as you liked it.


	9. The Long Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support on this story, it’s appreciated. I’ll be updating ‘The Golden Age’ next while trying to persuade myself not to write a ASOIAF fic inspired by Harlots - that’s a story for another day.
> 
> As always, please comment and kudos! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

 

**King’s Road, Westeros.**

**303 AC**

 

One thing that became apparent to Daenerys early on in her journey was how much she detested wheelhouses. If there was one occupant, it might have been considered to be comfortable lodgings for an otherwise arduous journey. But three of them shared the wooden and iron contraption, which bounded along the King’s Road jostling them about. The discomfort did nothing to soothe the need for rest and Catelyn’s venomous stares made her even more on edge. Dany did not like being away from Jon, not when she was so desperate to do anything to save his life. It was the only thing that mattered to her. Life could not be built if there was no life left to be lived. That night in the Weirwood had proven that she could not simply slip through time at free will, and she did not know what was necessary for the journey to work.

“Lady Daenerys, are you quite well?” Catelyn asked in a tone that did not carry the concern of her words, but it startled her nonetheless. It was jibe that made Sansa shift slightly, Jon’s well-poised, perfectly ladylike cousin did not agree with her mother, but she did also not have the will to speak out against her. Poor little lamb, it was not her fault. She seemed like the kind of girl that wanted a handsome, gallant knight to sweep her off her feet and drape a laurel upon her head.

Truth be told, Daenerys was not well. She longed for the comfort of her bed back in Winterfell, not the stiff confines of the wheelhouse and the smell of Catelyn’s breath as it filled up the confined space. Daenerys had not slept properly since she left Winterfell, no she worried too much and longed to be on the journey back to the North. “I should welcome the fresh air,” Daenerys replied, deciding that even for the sake of appearances she did not wish to engage with the traitorous bitch any longer. She tapped on the side of the carriage door, to catch the attention of one of the grooms. “Saddle a horse for me to ride. I should like to stretch my legs,” Daenerys ordered, standing up from the velvet-lined bench.

When she exited the wheelhouse, Dany made such that her appearance was acceptable from the dark grey riding breeches tucked into long leather boots, to the comfortable riding coat in a shade of midnight blue which grazed her calves. Dany had been relieved that Serena had the foresight to pack some breeches for her. The she-wolf was the sister that she never had.

She slipped on her pale leather gloves, to keep the chill from her fingers. Daenerys had never been overly fond of horse riding, but it was something that she had been forced to adopt without the convenience of a motor vehicle, new as they were to her time.

She turned to glance at Walda, who gave her an encouraging smile. Initially, Daenerys had not expected that her ladies maid would join her, considering the fact that Walda also had other duties to attend to. But the woman had been an invaluable comfort to her and had proven trustworthy. Naturally, the maid knew of her night with Jon, she saw the soiled sheets and the marks on Daenerys’s body, yet she did not say anything. Something which she valued.

She rode beside the men for hours, eyes wide as she took in the rolling hills and the lack of infrastructure that would claw across the land within a couple of hundred years. Her time was more sophisticated and while there were moments when Daenerys believed that the people around her were still infantile, she did enjoy the progression of freedom which was granted to her as a woman - even if they still had far to go. After the war, it seemed like everyone wanted to fit back into their roles and she’d already heard of there being a baby boom, and that had only been some months after the end. Women went back to wearing dresses and combing through their hair, instead of wearing trousers as they completed what was seen as a man’s job.

In her profession, people were a little more lenient, although her publisher had initially suggested that she write her books under a man’s name and not her own. Something which she heartily refused and it had proven to be the correct choice. Daenerys loved her novels, even though there were a couple that weren’t so successful. She had not thought of her publisher or fans since she arrived in 303, it felt very insignificant in the grand scheme of things. A new book had been teased and she’d been receiving fan mail on the daily.  Perhaps, Daario would burn it all.

“How long until we reach Riverrun?” Daenerys enquired, turning her head to one of the guard members that rode beside her with a stony expression and a wiry beard. His eyes softened when he turned to her, there seemed to be a kindness in his face despite the stoic expression that she’d been observing for many hours. He’d sat proudly atop his horse, with the direwolf sigil on his leathers. “‘Bout three days or so, milady. I reckon we’ll stop at the Inn at the Crossroads this evening. The men are growing restless and pardon my bluntness, but you look as though you need a good sleep.”

Daenerys forced a smile then - she wasn’t accustomed to someone being so bold in their assessment of her - yet she did not fault the man. He was friendly enough and she certainly favoured his company far more than she did Lady Catelyn's. Daenerys hoped that while they were in Riverrun,  the conniving woman would let down her guard, and she would uncover the plot which threatened to destroy the Stark dynasty. She had given thought to what might happen if she succeeded, what children would not be born and what chances would not be taken by people that she did know, but whose lives she had unintentionally altered by her actions in history. But she could not think of that, could not consider the possibility that it would damage someone in the future, she could only think of Jon and Serena. They deserved far better.

The sight of the Inn was a welcome one, and Daenerys eagerly dismounted from her horse. It was neither large or grand, but it would certainly serve its purpose. She noticed that Sansa was walking towards her, lavender skirts brushing against the dirty as she hastened her footsteps - Daenerys observed that she was trying to get to her before Calteny did.  “What troubles you, Lady Daenerys?” Sansa asked, her tone kinder than her mother’s. “You have been quiet these past weeks.” Poor Sansa, she was so unaware of her mother’s venom.

“It is nothing concerning, my Lady Sansa. I am simply not accustomed to spending so much time in a wheelhouse.” An understatement, if ever there was one. The recent invention of motor vehicles meant that journeys had been drastically cut down and they could travel to far off places without it taking a month of discomfort. If Sansa was unconvinced, she did not say anything.

“Come inside, my lady. We shall share a room,” Sansa motioned, as they both walked into the Inn. It was quaint and was not so very different from the modern bars. It lacked some of what the people of this time would call finery, while the people of her own time would name them a commodity. It was easy to take the civilisation of her own time for granted until she was faced with the lack of something as simple as a running shower.

Daenerys had hoped to send a raven to Jon, but the lack of privacy meant that she was not likely to have much luck. Truth be told, she was not certain of what she could write. There was a risk of it being intercepted, and she knew better than to mention their blossoming relationship or acknowledge their engagement. It was always easy to forget he was the King in the North when they were alone. While he commanded respect from his Lords, he did not allow his ego to inflate.

Often when she thought of Jon, she also thought of Daario. It was the guilt of leaving him behind. He would never have closure since she had no way of knowing that she could ever go back and while she knew that their relationship was over, he did not. She recalled how Daario had pranced about their house at the news of his promotion, he had been very proud. Daenerys had been thrilled for her husband, she knew that he had worked very hard and was very young to achieve the position he was in.

“Daenerys,” Sansa’s sharp voice once again cut through her thoughts, and she found her cheeks colouring. Daenerys had been so in her thoughts lately and others had noticed it.

“Forgive me, Sansa. I am weary,”  Daenerys murmured.

They sat at a vacant table and she hoped that Lady Catelyn would not join them. The Inn Keeper had assured them that they would be able to enjoy the finest pies in all of Westeros. Apparently, their pie-boy was talented.

She noticed that a group of young girls were all staring at her. Some might have berated them for their lack of manners, but she did not say a word. Instead, she smiled softly at them and hoped they would not shy away. One stepped closer to her, barely reaching the height of the table. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Sansa frowning, most likely out of confusion. The girl gripped her sleeve lightly.

“Are you a princess?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with the question. “My mama showed me a painted book of the old Queens and Princesses of Westeros, you look like them.” Daenerys placed her hand over the girl’s and shook her head. “I am not a Princess. But my family, the Velaryons, do look a lot like the old Targaryen Kings and Queens.”

The girl did look a little disappointed by her answer. “When I was a little girl, I used to imagine that I was a warrior Queen like Rhaenys or Visenya, back when it was believed that they rode Dragons from Valyria to Westeros.” The little girl nodded and walked back over to her friends, or perhaps they were her sisters. But either way, she was likely telling them of the warrior queens who rode dragons.

“You have shared little of your life with us, Daenerys. You do not speak of your family, do you never wish to write to them?” Sansa enquired and for a moment Daenerys wondered if she had been tasked with spying on her, a balm against Catelyn’s burns.

“My family are not forgiving, they would not wish to hear from me,” Daenerys responded, relieved that the serving boy appeared with the game pies. Her stomach rumbled in response. The best pie she had ever had was her Uncle Barristan’s. He was her mother’s uncle and had seen plenty of wars. She missed him terribly, she missed his stories about people - it was his influence on her books which made them so popular. She was certain that without him, her success would not have been so great. It hurt her most to realise that she would never see him again. Barristan had never married, but was a constant figure of support for his sister Alysanne and daughter Rhaella, and then afterwards her. His fair appearance was deceptive to many, and even in his old age he still defended his family.

Daenerys cut into her pie and sighed, “I shall tell you of my family, Sansa. We will spend a lot of time together over the next few weeks.”

They ate in silence after that. Daenerys was much to tired to spout her falsified family history and the fear of stepping out of line rendered her silent as she cut into the pastry. It was one of the most delicious pies that she had ever tasted, far nicer than the food at Winterfell, and she found that more than palatable. But she refused to accept that it was better than Barristan's. 

The silence allowed her to observe those around her and she watched as Lady Catelyn greeted several people warmly, even throwing her arms around one in complete contrast to her usually put together appearance that did not allow for any form of softness unless she was speaking with her own children. It was clear that Catelyn felt more comfortable, and the complete switch in her temperament indicated that she had not tried very hard to like the Northerners.

It made Daenerys feel certain that her journey to the Neck would be frutiful. Game on, bitch.


	10. The Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: No matter what happens on the final episode, I will continue to write all three of my stories. As far as I’m concerned, this final season of Game of Thrones doesn’t exist. I would be quite content remembering Jon and Daenerys on the boat, or beyond the wall by the waterfall. No matter what happens in the final episode, I will always love Jonerys and will continue to support both characters. It’s not their fault they’ve been written so poorly in this final season and I won’t let the toxic vision of D&D ruin it for me.
> 
> ‘The Golden Age’ will be up this weekend and my newest fic ‘The Duchess and the Wolf’, will follow soon after. Depending on how much time I have this weekend, it may also be posted.
> 
> As always, thank you for the support on this story. I appreciate you all taking the time to read it and share in my little piece of the world.

******Riverrun, Riverlands.**

**303 AC**

The Riverlands were beautiful. As far as the eye could see were lush green fields decorated with wildflowers, while brooks and rivers cut into the land, allowing a rush of clear water to run cover cobbles. It created a comforting sound, and it tempted her to dip her toe into the river. Everyone around her was tense, a nervous excitement. Even Catelyn’s face betrayed an emotion. The final three days of the journey had been equally as tiring as the rest, but there was a sense of relief in knowing it was almost over.

Her horse huffed beneath her as she encouraged him to halt his steps. Everyone else had stopped, forming a line so that they could enter Riverrun in twos, cantering in like a well-organised train. She turned towards Walda, who was sat astride a horse beside her, “When we arrive I should like a bath to be drawn at the earliest appropriate time.” For a month she had felt grimy, and there was little that could be accomplished with a washcloth and a basin of cold water.

Her handmaiden nodded her head and patted Dany’s hand.

The sound of the men’s voices drew her attention. They were to start moving forward. Lady Catelyn and Lady Sansa sat on horses directly in front of her, their matching fire-kissed hair contrasting wildly to the rich greenery which surrounded them. True Tullys, through and through.

The travelling party were greeted as though they were royalty as they entered the grounds of the keep, several members of the Tully family had lined up, smiles etched upon their faces. It looked a little ridiculous, as though they all had hangers in their mouth, but Catelyn’s expression matched theirs. They were truly happy to see one another. It was the Tully woman’s true family. If only Jon could see her like this, he would realise truly how much contempt the older woman had for him.

She watched as Lady Catelyn was helped down from her horse. The woman picked up her skirts and hastily walked forward to greet her family. Green sleeves were thrown forward as she hugged a taller and younger man, their likeness clear. From what she understood, Catelyn’s father had died and it was her brother Edmure, that was the Lord of Riverrun. Beside him stood a sable-haired girl, sweet-looking and small. It was clear from the way she stood close to Edmure, that she was his wife. On the Lord’s other side stood an older figure, gruff-looking and lined. The famous blackfish.

It was time then for Lady Sansa to walk forward to greet her family, it was less enthusiastic than Catelyn’s. She was a Stark of Winterfell, after all.

One of the guards stood beside her horse, offering to help her down from the beast. She nodded and took his hand, allowing herself to be aided in the quick descent. Truthfully, Daenerys felt a little nervous to be meeting so many new faces, but she did not let it show. If she was going to be Jon’s Queen one day, she needed to be strong. She could not allow them to sense her weakness.

“Lady Daenerys,” Catelyn called softly, motioning for her to step forward. She did not like being called like a dog, but at least Catelyn had the courtesy not to bark the order at her. There were too many witnesses for that.

Gracefully she walked forward, refusing to hasten her steps just because the fish-bitch was waiting. She nodded her head in respect towards Lord Tully, allowing the man to take her hand. He pressed a courteous kiss to the back of it, and then directed his gaze towards his wife. “We hope that you find your stay in Riverrun comfortable, Lady Daenerys. Let me introduce you to my wife, Roslin of House Frey.”  Daenerys smiled at the girl who was not much taller than her. She had once read of Lord Walder Frey who seemed to be a lecherous and vile old man, who had far too many wives and plenty of daughters. It was said that they were not fair in looks, save for one jewel. Roslin Frey. She felt sorry for her sisters, who would undoubtedly have been berated for their lack of appearance - even if there were far more important things than looking pretty.

“I look forward to getting to know you better, Lady Roslin.” There was a hidden agenda behind it. She wanted to know if the girl knew anything of a plot against the Northern king, or if it was something Catelyn had been planning with an outsider.

“I’ll show you to your rooms. There is to be a feast tonight, you’ll want to settle in beforehand,” Roslin responded sweetly, motioning for her to follow. The row of Tully’s all broke apart, with Catelyn and Sansa following Lord Edmure in the opposite direction. She was relieved to see that Walda was following her, and the promise of a warm bath lifted her spirits.

They walked in silence through the keep. Everything was far brighter than Winterfell, beautiful paintings decorated the walls, and gilded scales glittered on the stone, fixings to represented the Tully’s sigil.

“This room is to be yours, I had it prepared for you. If you need anything else at all, let your handmaiden know and we will see it done,” she responded softly. “I’ll come and collect you later for the feast.”

Daenerys nodded and then stepped into the chambers. She held in a gasp. It was beautiful and much more airy than her residence within Winterfell. She did prefer the cosiness of Winterfell, but she could certainly appreciate the beauty of her chambers in Riverrun. Bright coral fabrics stretched over her bed, embroidered with sparrows holding glittering flowers.

“I must ask Lady Roslin where these sheets are from, they do not look to be Westerosi. I should like to have some imported for my rooms in Winterfell. They would look pretty beneath my furs.,” Daenerys mused, watching as Walda nodded her head. She would likely not have needed to ask, it appeared that her handmaiden was more than willing to take up that task. It occurred to her that she had begun to think of Winterfell as the home she never wanted to leave.

As Walda began to prepare her bath with the aid of several other ladies, as jug after jug of boiling water was poured into the metal tub, Daenerys knelt down to open her trunk. She fished out a glass vial and smiled. “Lavender oil,” she announced with a smile, recalling the moment Jon had placed it in her hands - she had admitted that she did not have enough for her journey south, and the next morning he had given her a box full of scented oils. He whispered that her hair always smelled of lavender and gooseberries.

She poured some of the oil into the water, as the condensation of the hot water washed over her skin. She was quick to disrobe with the aid of Walda, who always appeared a little frightened when Daenerys would step into the scalding hot water and not even flinch.

As she reclined into the bath, Daenerys let out a relieved sigh. Her body ached all over and the month-long journey had been a source of continuous discomfort. Walda sat behind her and began to run oils through her long strands of hair, working them through with a comb. It made her hair feel soft and brought out the natural loose wave of her hair. She thought of sharing a bath with Jon, of reclining back against his chest and wishing the whole world away. When it was just the two of them, she could think of little else.

“This is the first time that I have seen you relax in weeks, my lady,” Walda murmured. Daenerys hummed in response, closing her eyes as she allowed the hot water to work out the kinks and knots from her body. She wondered if the hot springs of Winterfell would give her the same comfort. She hoped so. Daenerys had been promised when she returned that she would be shown the cave.

She almost fell asleep in the bath, and it was enough for her to receive a nudge from Walda, “You may benefit from a nap, my lady. If we get you dry, you can get into bed and my fear of you drowning will have abated.”

Standing up from the water, she groaned from the effort. It would be entirely too easy for her to simply stay there, but the water would have grown cold and she would have awoken with a chill. Linens were used to brush the water droplets from her body, as Walda expertly moved around her. She had quickly grown used to another dressing her, despite how strange it had felt in the beginning. It was the custom for a lady, and to refuse would have seemed too outrageous.

Daenerys hissed as she touched her breasts, extending up her arms so that the soft chemise could be placed over her naked skin. She had been glad of the bath and was grateful for the privacy which she finally had after a month.

Tentatively, she brushed her fingers over her sore breasts once again. She suspected her moon blood was on its way. It had been a while.

She turned towards Walda and smiled. There was something about the plump woman that she could never quite put her finger on, but her loyalty was admirable. Ever since she had arrived in Winterfell, Walda had been nothing but kind and dutiful, always there to care for her. Daenerys moved to sit in front of the vanity, allowing Walda to comb through her wet hair, while she stared into the mirror.

“How long have you been at Winterfell for?” Daenerys asked, eyes darting up to meet Walda’s in the mirror.

“Since I was a babe. My mother was offered a position in Queen Lyarra’s service, and I was cared for in the kitchens until I was old enough to learn as she had before me. I served Queen Ashara for a time, she was older than me and so kind,” Walda explained, and she found herself smiling at the words. She wondered if that was where Jon’s kindness came from.

“And King Brandon?” Daenerys asked, curious to know more of what Jon’s parents were like. Reading it in the history books was one thing, but hearing it from the mouth of someone who had lived it was something else entirely.

“King Brandon had the wolf’s blood. It ran hot in his veins, and while he was mostly well tempered towards his people, he was ruthless against his enemies. He loved Lady Ashara, she was the light of his world and she tempered his impulses. Jon inherited that fierceness, although it’s often hidden behind a more tempered nature which is reminiscent of his noble Uncle Eddard.” Daenerys knew that she had not seen the more fierce side of Jon, but she had no doubt that it was there. From history books, she had learned a lot about King Jon and his final war. The thought made her swallow deeply. It would be his final war, but the outcome would be entirely different.

“Thank you for telling me, Walda,” she responded softly, trying to stifle a yawn with her hand. Walda loosely braided her hair and the set a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Why not take a nap? It will be some time before Lady Roslin comes to collect you for the feast. I shall wake you without enough time, do not worry, my lady.”

The suggestion was favourable, and her body moved of its own accord over to the bed. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. A true sign of her exhaustion.

Before long she was shaken awake by Walda, who peered over her with a warm smile. Daenerys noticed that the sun was starting to settle.

She stretched out, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Daenerys would have been lying if she said she felt refreshed since she wanted nothing more than to climb back in bed. Never before had she felt such exhaustion, but the journey had been difficult and she struggled to rest in the inns and tents which they resided in on their travels. For all of Sansa’s grace, the girl did suffer from bouts of snoring which kept her awake half the night. But she saw no point in mentioning it, for it would only embarrass the girl. 

Daenerys longed to be back in Jon's embrace. They had not seen one another in over a month, and she felt vulnerable so far away from him. It wasn't that she could not take care of herself, but more the fear that something bad would happen to either of them if they were parted for too long. 

Walda held up a lilac gown, which would compliment her indigo eyes. It was lighter than the gowns she wore in the North, but the climate was certainly more tolerable further south.

Daenerys remained silently as she was dressed, and then as Walda pulled back her pale hair strands into rope-braids, a sign of nobility according to Westerosi customs. The rest of her hair was left down in natural waves, something which ladies from her own time were often jealous of.

“Do I look okay?” Daenerys asked once she was fully dressed. Walda nodded at her in a manner which made her look as though she were a proud mother. “You look beautiful, my lady.”

Lady Roslin came for her not long after, and she followed the petite woman through the corridors once again. Everything felt bright in Riverrun, so full of life. She could imagine girls with ribbons running around a maypole on the fields outside.

“Lady Catelyn sent word prior to your arrival that you wished to invite a guest. We took the liberty of sending a raven,” Roslin announced as they walked into the main hall.

“Lady Velaryon, you are most welcome here,” she heard Lady Catelyn say, but she knew the sentiment was not directed at her.

Daenerys felt ice climb down her back, and she around. There beside Catelyn stood a fair-haired woman, which eyes of sapphires, distinctively valerian. She almost looked as though she could be her own mother’s sister or a cousin at least. It was incredibly jarring.

She felt certain that she was going to faint. They were going to uncover her secrets, to expose her for the fraud that she was.  

“Daenerys, sweetheart,” the woman greeted as she walked forward with elegance, which only left her confused. How did the woman know who she was? Dany was pulled into the woman’s embrace, while she struggled to keep her emotions from her face.

“How,” she whispered, fearful of being exposed.

“Not here,” the woman whispered, taking a step back a to stroke the side of Dany's face. It felt as though she were naked, and the Velaryon Lady could see every part of her. "We'll speak in private later. We have much to discuss, Daenerys Targaryen." 

 


	11. The Water Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support of this story. 
> 
> I'm so happy that the Jonerys fandom is powering through, after a horrendous final season. Most of us know that it's not true to character, and hopefully, George will give us a better ending.

**CHAPTER 11**

 

Throughout the evening, Daenerys felt on edge. Her indigo eyes were trained on the woman who was keeping up the charade of being her mother. She had no answers, no reason, only confusion. She felt so frightened of being exposed, that waves of nausea washed over her and she pushed away the goblets of wine, in favour of water. 

Lady Roslin did her best to pull her into a conversation as they sat at the large banquet table, but she was lost in her own thoughts. 

Dany pushed her food around. She was uninterested in eating anything on her plate. The only thing she wanted in that moment was to pull Rhaena Velaryon out of the room and ask a myriad of questions. No one in all of Westeros knew her identity, so why did the stranger from the Driftmark know exactly who she was? 

“Lady Daenerys are you alright?” Roslin’s voice was sweet and soft, which matched her visage well. She doubted that Lord Edmure’s wife knew anything of the plots against House Stark. But she also knew not to underestimate her opponents, and until proven otherwise, Lady Roslin was also her enemy. 

“Yes. Thank you, Lady Roslin.” She brushed off the Lady’s concerns and rose from the table. As she walked to the archway which led out of the banquet hall, her stomach lurched and her hand flew up against her mouth. Daenerys swallowed deeply and began to take measured breaths as she willed the waves of nausea to subside. The stress of everything had gotten to her. She could not remember the last time that she had laid down her head and not been riddled with worry. Daenerys could not tell anyone and felt completely alone. The thought made her want to weep. But she couldn’t. She had a job to do. 

Once she had regained her composure, she walked down the corridor with her head held high. There were plenty of Lords and Ladies from the Riverlands who crossed her path, but she barely acknowledged any of them. All looked at her for the outsider that she was, with her porcelain hair and indigo eyes which almost looked purple in some lights. Her mother always said that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. 

Thinking of her own mother made her heart clench. She missed Rhaella dearly, she was well-tempered and kind-hearted, which greatly contrasted against her father’s more ruthless nature. 

Daenerys walked outside and breathed in the damp air. It was warmer than the North but prone to large bouts of rain. The air felt heavy, and she wondered if there was a storm on the horizon. 

She shivered and wished that she had the foresight to wrap a shawl around her shoulders before she decided to wander outside in the darkness. 

She breathed out a sad sigh. The burden had become so hard to bear, and she questioned what her purpose was in Westeros. Was she to save the Stark family and rewrite history? Or was she doomed to fall with them and endure a bitter end? 

“Oh Jon, I wish I could tell you everything,” she whispered to the darkness. A stray tear fell down her cheek, and she quickly swiped it away. 

Daenerys did not linger outside for too long. But as she walked back to her chambers, she found that she wasn’t alone. Lady Velaryon walked beside her, “We shall talk now.” 

When they entered her chambers, Walda offered her a polite nod towards both of them and left. Daenerys saw that the hearth was burning brightly, warming up the room which would have undoubtedly grown colder with the evening. 

A carafe of wine sat on a small table, along with two glasses. But she instead reached for the jug of water, her stomach still unsettled. That action alone received a curious look from Lady Velaryon, who did not voice her reasoning for it. The older woman merely brushed out her seafoam green skirts and took a seat on one of the vacant chairs. She poured herself a glass of wine and looked up at Daenerys.

“I’m sure you have questions.” 

Daenerys nodded and sat down at the table beside Lady Velaryon.

“I have been masquerading as your daughter. Why did you not expose me?” Daenerys questioned, voice full of concern and suspicion. She was wary of betrayal, especially since Lady Catelyn seemed all too eager to bring down her own nephew. 

“You are of my bloodline,” Rhaena began. Her age marked hands reached across the small table and grasped both of her hands. “There is much for me to tell you. But your arrival was foretold, Daenerys Stormborn.” Rhaena began to trace the lines on her hand gently, the action felt soft and motherly. Only her mother ever referred to her as ‘Stormborn’. Her poor mother had laboured for almost two days when the worst storm in living memory knocked out all of the power and the city was shrouded in darkness. 

“Have you heard of the water spirit Melusine?” the woman asked, but Daenerys shook her head. That seemed to displease the Velaryon lady. “That surprises me. But, your mother may have been fearful of revealing too much to you until the time was right. The Targaryens have always favoured fire, but we Velaryons have often felt lured to the magic of the waters. We are all descended from the spirit Melusine, who hailed from Valyria thousands of years ago. Her magic is in every Velaryon, including you. But you are most special of us all. You are destined to reshape the world.” 

Daenerys’ brow furrowed. It was hard to believe in magic and prophecy, but it was equally hard to believe that she had touched a Weirwood tree and been thrown 300 years in the past. 

“So, I can change the past? The past that I know from the history books?” she questioned, while visions of Jon and Serena filled her mind, she wanted to save them most of all. 

“Yes and no. The history has already been set, you cannot change it. In that version which you know, things will continue on as they always have done and no actions which you take here will affect that. But you can change this future, the path that has not yet been set.” 

“How? I am scared of my own failure. What if I believe myself to be making things better, but it only makes things worse?” she asked, doubtful.

“We believe in you, Daenerys Stormborn. You have dragon blood in your veins, and the spirit of Melusine, there is great power there. Few have travelled across the plains of time and survived.” 

Daenerys wrung her hands together, dizzied and disorientated. It was a lot to take in, and she did not know how to process it. 

“Will I stay here in this time?” she asked cautiously, fearful of the answer. 

“Your successes will be decided by the choices which you make and have already maid. You are paving the path of your future and those around you. If you stray from that path, I fear the ending may be the same and you will once again her the buzzing in your ears as you touch the Weirwood tree.” 

She knew that she did not want to return. Despite the fact that she would miss her family, Missy and Grey, Daario, she had found her true home in the North with Jon, and she wanted to say with him. If all came to pass as she hoped, a crown would sit atop her head - something she was not prepared for. Long ago the Targaryens had ruled, she was descended from Kings and yet she felt no pull. 

In the week which followed, Daenerys spent a lot of time with Lady Rhaena. It gave her comfort and she somehow felt connected to her mother through her. Her nausea did not abate, and neither did her weariness. On more than one occasion, Walda had suggested that she see the maester, but Daenerys refused. The food didn’t agree with her, was the answer she gave to her maid.

“Lord Tully has suggested that we visit some of the other houses,” Lady Velaryon announced, before rolling her eyes. “I wager it was his wife’s idea. Edmure is a good man, but he believes that his vassal houses will show him utter devotion without ever seeing his face.” 

“Does Lord Tully have all of his wits?” Daenerys asked quietly, eyes darting over to look at the tall copper-haired man. 

“Yes. But despite his age, some still consider him a green-boy.” Daenerys curbed a smile and walked with Lady Velaryon over to the stables where many of the noble members were already sat astride their horses. It seemed that they were making a day of it. 

“We are going to go out into the fields and have a picnic. Our vassal houses will be joining us, so you’ll have a chance to meet them. It’s been a long time since we have been able to do it, with the raid and battles. But we have been left in peace now that the Lannister forces have dispersed,” said Lady Roslin, who had walked over to them. She was dressed in a rich green riding gown, which did nothing to disguise the swell of a baby bump on the woman’s petite figure. She was so slight, Daenerys imagined that it would be difficult for her.

It suddenly struck her as strange that the Lannister forces had suddenly left the Riverlands in peace. From what she knew of Cersei Lannister, she wasn’t likely to step away without good reason - be it that there was some profit in it for her. Daenerys’ indigo eyes searched for Lady Catelyn and wondered just how deeply the fish bitch had betrayed Jon.

“I look forward to it, Lady Roslin,” Daenerys responded, realising that she had waited a little longer than acceptable to acknowledge the woman’s words.

With the aid of the stable hand, Daenerys mounted her horse. It was the same one which she had ridden on from Winterfell, when the confines of the wheelhouse became too much. “Hello boy,” she whispered and stroked the horse’s dark mane. When she was thirteen, her father gifted her with a silver horse. It was the most precious thing she had ever been given, and it was rare that she was not seen caring or riding Silver. 

Before long they were riding through the fields. The bottom of her lilac riding gown had already become muddied by the journey, but that did not seem to matter. Every other lady seemed to have suffered the same fate, and Daenerys cared more for the freedom of being able to gallop through the hills than she did for the fabric of her gown. Even if poor Walda had to spend hours scrubbing the hem - but the woman never seemed to mind. 

They stopped near a river, where wildflowers decorated the banks. No one seemed to care that there was a chance of rain, for soon enough people she had never seen enough were embracing one another. The land was dotted with bodies, it looked as though a great festival was being held. In more modern times, people needed notice and time to prepare, before something this big took place. But it seemed that the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands had set aside their plans for the day, and brought along a mass of food which would likely have been frantically made by the poor cook. 

Lady Velaryon passed her something which looked a lot like a biscuit. “It has ginger in it,” the woman said, encouraging her to eat. It seemed that Walda’s own concerns were mirrored by Rhaena. 

“Thank you,” she muttered and began to eat the morsels of food. “Will you tell me about the Driftmark?” Daenerys asked quietly, wanting to know more about her mother’s side of the family. Her father always made certain that she knew all of the Targaryens histories, but her mother only told her the basics of the Velaryons.

“Very well,” Rhaena began. 

It was well past dusk when they started to make their way back to Riverrun. Her afternoon had been consumed with stories and tales of the Velaryons. She was told of the tiled bathhouses which were decorated with seahorses, and the arches over water where children played, hoping to see the spirit Melusine.  Daenerys hoped to see it one day.

Daenerys yawned, almost being lulled to sleep by the deliberate steps of her horse. 

The sound of hooves reach her ears, it seemed to be coming from a different direction altogether. 

“Lannister soldiers,” Lady Velaryon whispered, panicked. Daenerys twisted her body while still astride the horse, to see a group of men in colours of red and gold, galloping towards them. “We need to get back to Riverrun,” she called. The woman’s concern was barely concealed beneath her hood.

The party surrounding her all sprung into action, turning the direction of their horses while those with swords allowed the ladies to depart.

In the commotion she felt her horse growing agitated, it bucked beneath her, pounding in the dirt while bodies bustled around them hoping to make it to the keep. Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the dark night which was clouded with a thick blanket of grey and the pelting of hard pain. Not a star could be seen, it was a dreary evening. 

A loud crack of thunder startled her horse, causing it to rear. One moment she was astride the horse, and the next she was on the ground groaning, while darkness crept across her vision and the shadow of Lady Velaryon faded from view. “Jon,” she whispered to the darkness before it fully engulfed her. 

The first thing which Daenerys became aware of was the ache in her body. It seemed to consume every inch, although it was her head which pounded the most. Hushed voices could be heard, although she could not make out what they were saying. 

Dany groaned and tried to open her eyes, relieved that the room was not too bright. Everything was blurry at first, but she saw Walda rushing over to her. “My lady,” she cooed, goblet of water in hand. 

It was all disorientating, but the water helped to clear some of the fog. “What happened?” she asked, her voice hoarse. 

“You fell from your horse,” she heard a sharp voice say. Her eyes first looked at Walda who looked irritated by the woman’s presence, and then over to Lady Catelyn who was stood in the corner of the room. “The maester has ordered that you stay in bed for the foreseeable future. He says that you are weak.” Catelyn seemed to delight in saying the final part, but Dany imagined that there was a dual meaning behind it.

“How long was I out?” she asked with a frown. 

Catelyn sat on the edge of her bed, “A little over a day.” 

She shifted in the sheets, trying to hoist herself up a little against the pillows. Pain spiked up her wrist from the movement. 

“There was something else, my lady. It was agreed that I should be the one to tell you,” Catelyn responded, laying a hand on her own. If she had the energy, she would have slapped it away. Gone were the pretences of them having an amicable relationship, Catelyn was not to be trusted. “The maester says that your belly has hardened. It appears that you’re with child. The maester says that the babe appears to be unharmed by your fall, but it’s one of the reasons why he would like you to stay in bed until you feel the quickening.” Emotions flooded Daenerys, but she was too exhausted to even cry.  She was pregnant? Daenerys had feared that it would not be possible for her, she had tried with Daario before - but he remained ever hopeful that one day they would have a child. But perhaps the fault was with him, or it was not meant to be. Either way, she had spent one night with Jon and his seed had taken root. 

There was no softness from Catelyn, she spoke bluntly, almost to the point of being cruel. “Bastards have no place in this world, they are put on this earth to turn good minds evil, they are unworthy of anything pure. What would the king say, if he knew you were so wanton? A social disgrace? Unless...oh you clever girl, you seduced my foolish nephew, didn’t you.” 

“Get out,” Daenerys warned, her voice lowering with anger. Catelyn had the nerve to smile at Daenerys.

“I told the Northern Lords that I would share my opinion on you once we return to Winterfell. You can be sure that you will no longer be welcome there, once they hear of this.” 

“Get out, you hateful bitch,” Daenerys spat, her words full of venom and hatred for Catelyn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this instalment. We aren't too many chapters away from a Jonerys reunion, thank goodness. As always, leave kudos, comment etc. Let me know what you think, and I'll be back soon with the next chapter.
> 
> Also, that last line is a nod to another one of my favourite characters, Margaery Tyrell.


	12. Justice or Mercy

**CHAPTER 12**

**Riverrun, Riverlands.**

**303 AC**

Days merged into weeks, and Daenerys felt her frustration grow. The regular visits from the maester grew bothersome, he poked and prodded at her body in a manner that was rather unorthodox. She was always cautious of their methods since old practices could be considered counterproductive, and even more fatal to the person than leaving the condition be. 

Her warms hands were splayed out on her stomach through her white sleeping shift, which felt hard beneath her touch. There was little sign yet of the child growing in her womb save for a small bump which could easily be accused of being food or gas, but it provided comfort to know she wasn’t entirely alone. If not for her nausea and her missing mood blood, Daenerys was certain that she would not believe that was even pregnant. Her longing for Jon was only partially sated by the fact that she had a part of him with her. It had been two moons since she had seen him. 

She hated bedrest. Despite the comfort which Rhaena, Walda and even Sansa tried to provide, she felt bored and frustrated by her situation. Lady Catelyn had surprisingly not exposed her pregnancy to anyone, and the reason for her bedrest was left purposefully vague. The silence of the Lady was a worry, it was clear that there was an ulterior motive and it made her feel even more unsure and unsure. There was no trust or love there. Daenerys hated that her suspicions about the lady were proving to be true. 

Rhaena had promised her that she had the capacity to make things better, but there was also a chance that she could fail in her task. 

The thought of going back to her own time broke her heart. Jon deserved to live, to be a father, to have all the things that would be denied. She wanted to give him that. Her sadness quickly switched back to anger, as she thought of those conspiring against the man she loved. She hoped he would show no mercy when the time came - they deserved only justice. 

There was a gentle knock at the door, which Daenerys acknowledged. She called for the visitor to enter her chambers, which were well lit. Despite her confinement, Walda had made sure that the room was light and airy, and provided her with both reading and writing materials. She didn’t dare send a raven to Jon, in case it was intercepted.

A slender figure with auburn hair walked into the room. Daenerys did not blame Sansa for her mother’s crimes. If Catelyn’s plan succeeded and history was allowed to run its course, her own daughter would suffer. She remembered reading about Sansa and at the time felt a great measure of sorrow and pity. The girl who left Winterfell longed to be a Queen, to sit aside her golden-headed Prince and bear him sons. And when Petyr Baelish delivered her to the Starks, she likely felt like her troubles were all over. Little did she know, her troubles had only begun.

Daenerys smiled at the young Stark girl and pushed aside her worried thoughts. The southern fashions suited Sansa, it was the Tully colouring in her. Surprisingly, Sansa looked low spirited as she took the seat beside her bed. 

“What is it, sweet girl?” Daenerys asked, and reached forward to grasp Sansa’s pale hand in her own. 

“Mother does not like you very much, does she?” There was little left to answer, which Sansa did not already know. As the days passed, Lady Catelyn’s distaste for only grew and she dispensed with any charades which might have alluded to a friendship between the two women. They were enemies. “She was not so callous before you arrived. I do not know why you have provoked her,” the fire-haired maiden mused, her expression ponderous. “Sometimes, I do not recognise her.” 

“Sansa, why are you telling me this?” Daenerys prodded, a sad expression on her face. Her voice was soft, gentle, as she tried to dissect the maiden’s reasoning. She knew that in spite of Catelyn’s harsh comments, her daughter had tried to remain friendly.

“I know that you hold Jon in your heart and that he will listen to you. I would ask for mercy for my mother.”

“Has your mother committed a crime which requires judgement?” Daenerys felt her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to pull Sansa into her arms and make the world disappear. She could see the conflict on her features, which eventually settled into resolve. Reluctance to betray her mother was expected, especially after she had already lost her father. 

“Not yet. But I fear that she may,” Sansa muttered. The Lady cast her eyes downward to look at the Tully green gown she was wearing. “I am a Stark of Winterfell, and my duty is to the North. It’s my duty to protect the North from those who would betray it, even if it is my own kin.” A tear slipped from the corner of Sansa’s eye. Small mercies, is that what they needed? Daenerys did not wish to cause Sansa any more pain, not after everything she had been through. Perhaps, there was an alternative to Catelyn’s death. 

She pulled back the bed sheets, slipped from the unnecessary confinement and pulled Sansa into a hug, “I will do all that I can.” Daenerys stepped back them, her hands holding Sansa’s own. “We will be family soon enough.” The thought of family made her smile, and she found herself looking down at her belly. Her nightgown did not conceal the tiny bump, but she noticed it only because she was looking for it. She knew the importance of getting back to Jon, to fulfil his promise. Marriage. 

“How long does your mother intend for us to stay in the Riverlands?” Daenerys asked, aware that their second moon turn had passed since they left Winterfell. 

“A few moon turns, I believe.” 

The blood seemed to drain from her face, and she felt light-headed from Sansa’s words. A few months? Did Lady Catelyn wish to delay until she was too pregnant to travel? Was that her plan? Surely, Jon would demand to know why they intended to say away for so long. “No, we must return to Winterfell. I do not have time,” she whispered, her face flooded with emotion. 

Sansa did not press her on why she was so urgent to return. But perhaps the Lady already suspected. Sansa was smarter than she seemed.

The next morning, Daenerys decided that she’d had enough of her confinement. She knew her body well enough to know that there was nothing wrong with it and the only thing which would happen from staying in her chambers for months was certain madness. 

The weather had dropped, so she dressed in a woollen grey gown and pulled back the front sections of her hair into twists, while the remainder of her long silken strands hung down. Strangely enough, she had not seen Walda all morning, which was rare. Perhaps she was unwell, or busy.

Daenerys hoped to stop in the main hall for breakfast. It would certainly prevent her food from being poisoned, which was one of Lady Rhaena’s fears.

Daenerys stopped in the corridor, her back pressed against the wall as she heard hushed voices, “Everything is all in order. Once the Bolton’s are in possession of the Stark Princess, it will begin.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and thought of Serena. She did not wish to think of the brutality which the Princess would endure, should she fail. The potential future warden of the North’s wife would know only pain and suffering. 

“We wait for Lady Catelyn’s word and then we march.” 

Her face scrunched with hot fury. Every fear and suspicion had been proven right, the Lady had been betraying the Starks in pursuit of power. Perhaps she felt justified after what happened with Brandon and Ashara. 

A hand gripped her arm and she jumped. Daenerys feared that she had been caught, but as she turned her head she saw Lady Velaryon, who pressed a finger to her lips. 

Her heart pounded in her chest as she followed Rhaena outside towards the stables. The silver-haired lady pulled her into one of the paddocks and grabbed her by the shoulders. There was a sad smile on her face. The lady took off her own pale blue cloak, which was lined and trimmed with white fur and wrapped it around her. “You must go. There is only danger if you stay here, I fear for your safety and for your child. Walda is waiting for you, ride hard for Winterfell.” 

Tears filled her eyes, and she hugged Rhaena close. It had given her comfort to have her, it felt as though she had her mother. There was a similar strength in her eyes, and her presence had helped to keep Lady Catelyn away from her chambers. The older woman had been frightened that someone might try to poison her, so she always had her servants test the food.

“Take care, Daenerys Stormborn,” she whispered, and a stray tear fell from her eye. 

“Come with me,” she asked, not wanting to say goodbye. 

“To keep you safe, I must stay. But we may meet again,”  She ushered her out of the paddock to where a horse was saddled for her. A coin purse was placed into the stable hand’s palm by Rhaena, while Walda who was sat astride another horse gave them an uneasy smile. “You must get going. Trust in yourself.” 

Daenerys mounted the horse, while tears blurred her vision, “I shall miss you so very much.”

Rhaena passed her a pale blue scarf which matched the tones of her cloak, “Wrap this around your head. You’re too easily recognised in these parts and further North.” Daenerys nodded and with shaking hands, threw the scarf over the curls. 

With one last squeeze of Rhaena’s hand, Daenerys spurred the horse into a gallop. It was a dangerous thing, two women on the road alone. But Walda seemed to have plenty of secrets up her sleeve. They were conscious of the Lannister forces, which kept appearing in the Riverlands, despite the supposed peace which had been established by Lord Edmure. Then there were the Tully soldiers, which would be likely sent after her once Catelyn discovered that she was no longer in Riverrun. 

It was a long ride for Winterfell, but every path crossed was a step closer to Jon. She wanted so much for Winterfell to be her permanent home, and that meant protecting it. A promise had been made to Sansa that she would beg for mercy when it came to Lady Catelyn, but the same could not be said for the rest of the traitors. If Jon were to take Catelyn’s head from her shoulders, he would be a kinslayer and she did not want that on his conscience. A place among the Silent Sisters was the most appropriate place for Catelyn Stark. 

If Catelyn was working with the Lannisters, she must never had truly loved Ned Stark. To work with those who murdered him as a traitor was despicable. Daenerys was trying to think of the middle link, who would show loyalty both to the crown and to Catelyn, who would benefit most from the chaos? 

Daenerys audibly gasped, which caught Walda’s attention. “Petyr Baelish,” she whispered, suddenly connecting the dots. He was the one who delivered Sansa over to Catelyn. What if it was not an escape, but a carefully planned arrangement made between two cunning bitches. “Seven hells!” she gasped, feeling overwhelmed by the knowledge.

“What is it, my lady?” Walda asked, her rosy face etched with concern. Daenerys shook her head, silently dismissing the woman’s concerns. The Northernor had proven herself loyal to her many times over, but it would have been difficult for Daenerys to explain herself. 

They rode for days and Daenerys had never known exhaustion like it. They were careful to avoid the Inns, for her absence would certainly have reached the ears of those beyond the borders of the Riverlands. She longed for the motor vehicles of her own time. In a few short hours, they would have been at Winterfell, but instead, they were on a moon turn journey back to the North.

In addition to the aches produced from poor bedsits, she was plagued with constant nausea, aching breasts and bouts of dizziness. All in all, it put Daenerys in a foul mood. 

“Which keep is that?” she asked, as they rode alongside the river. Walda seemed amused by her question and she quickly realised her foolishness. The Twins - known for its identical castles and long road. Fortunately, the Greenfork was not flooding, so they were not required to cross over the bridge and encounter of the loathsome Walder Frey. 

As the night drew closer, Walda suggested that they make camp. The woman was instrumental to her own survival and made sure that she rested as much as could and ate even when her stomach protested. There was an unspoken fear that the journey would be too difficult on Daenerys, but neither spoke of it. She did not want to think of what would happen if she grew too weak. 

They sat around a small fire, which crackled and spat out bits of ash. Daenerys stroked her small bump, allowing it to comfort her. It was her strength. 

In the darkness a twig cracked, which had both women on edge. Daenerys whipped her head around and scrambled to her feet, while Walda grasped ahold of the dagger which she kept beside her. 

For a moment there was nothing but the eerie silence, and then suddenly three men stepped forward dressed in Lannister armour. “What do we have here?” one of them grinned, while his eyes raked over her. Daenerys swallowed and took an uneasy step back. “There’s no need to be frightened, we are honourable.” She knew that few men were honourable. It was a time when men ruled and women served. Men took what they wanted, without caring what pain they inflicted. 

“If you are honourable, you shall leave my handmaiden and me be,” she responded, trying to keep her voice clear and assertive.

“What is a Lady doing out in the woods? You’re begging to be ruined.” The Lannister soldier marched towards her as she scurried backwards, almost tripping over branches. The other two men narrowed in on Walda, who was pointing the dagger furiously at them. The looked equally as drunk and vile as the one charging toward her. 

The man grasped her by the arm, his dirty nails clawing into her arm. He was so close she could smell the ale on his breath and the grease from his hair - it made her want to vomit. She struggled in his grasp, desperate to pull away from him. “Get off me you bloody bastard!” she screeched and attempted to claw at him like a wildcat. Her attempts to pry herself away were futile against him. It was infuriating and terrifying that she once again felt helpless. 

He tried to wrestle her to the ground with one hand gripping her skirts. She screamed in the darkness and then something utterly terrifying and marvellous happened. A sudden rush of white flew past her sight, and a great beast dragged the man from her, while its mouth went straight for the jugular, splashing blood against the grass and dried dirty. The same treatment was given to the other soldiers, whom Walda had already struck once with the dagger she had been holding.

Daenerys pulled herself up from the ground, shaking from the adrenaline as she looked at the beast. The blood dripping from its mouth matched the crimson of its eyes. It was a wolf, but bigger, much bigger.

“What is it?” she gasped as it walked closer to her, but she did not take a step back. There was something strangely familiar about it. 

“It’s Ghost,” Walda responded. The woman almost sounded awe-struck. “The King’s direwolf was not at Winterfell when you arrived, he had accompanied Princess Serena to the Dreadfort when she travelled with Lady Catelyn and took a strange route back it would appear.” 

When Ghost reached her, she remained still. He nudged her hand carefully, and she combed her fingers through the snow-white fur, “Amazing,” she whispered. The direwolf moved to sniff her belly, and then gently nudged it with his muzzle. 

“Ghost knows it’s a Stark in your belly.” 

Daenerys cried then. She pressed her face into the side of the direwolf and wrapped her arms around the beast, who whined and sniffed at her hair. He did not frighten her at all despite the fact that she had seen him tear a man’s throat out. She felt safe with him. “Thank you for protecting us,” she whispered into the direwolf’s fur. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany is going back to Winterfell! Hooray. The Jonerys reunion is coming very soon, that much I can promise you. I hope that you enjoyed the latest chapter, it was certainly one to push the story along. I honestly don’t know how many chapters this story will have, but we still have a long way to go. I genuinely from the bottom of my heart thank you all for the love and support which you continue to show this story.
> 
> I realised that in the 11 previous chapters I never mentioned Ghost and to be honest I was horrified. But he's Dany's fierce protector now, so I hope that makes up for it.


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